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Smoking Poems

My Cigar.
In spite of my physician, who is, _entre nous_, a fogy, ...

The Farmer's Pipe.
Make a picture, dreamy smoke, In my still and cosey ...

Wrongfellow.
I like cigars Beneath the stars, Upon the water...

My Meerschaum Pipe.
Old meerschaum pipe, I'll fondly wipe Thy scarred an...

On Receipt Of A Rare Pipe.
I lifted off the lid with anxious care, Removed the ...

With Pipe And Book.
With Pipe and Book at close of day, Oh, what is sweete...

In Favor Of Tobacco.
Much victuals serves for gluttony To fatten men like s...

The Happy Smoking-ground.
When that last pipe is smoked at last And pouch and ...

Smoking Spiritualized.
The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently...

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...

Smoking Away.
Floating away like the fountains' spray, Or the snow...

Inscription For A Tobacco Jar.
Keep me at hand; and as my fumes arise, You'll find _a...

Envoi.
Smokers, who doubt or con or pro, And ye who dare to...

On A Broken Pipe.
Neglected now it lies, a cold clay form, So late with ...

"keats Took Snuff."
"Keats took snuff.... It has been established by the ...

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the learned talk of books, The glutton...

Meerschaum.
Come to me, O my meerschaum, For the vile street organ...

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...

Pipes And Beer.
Before I was famous I used to sit In a dull old unde...

Cigars And Beer.
Here With my beer I sit, While g...



THE HAPPY SMOKING-GROUND.








When that last pipe is smoked at last
And pouch and pipe put by,
And Smoked and Smoker both alike
In dust and ashes lie,
What of the Smoker? Whither passed?
Ah, will he smoke no more?
And will there be no golden cloud
Upon the golden shore?
Ah! who shall say we cry in vain
To Fate upon his hill,
For, howsoe'er we ask and ask,
He goes on smoking still.
But, surely, 'twere a bitter thing
If other men pursue
Their various earthly joys again
Beyond that distant blue,
If the poor Smoker might not ply
His peaceful passion too.
If Indian braves may still up there
On merry scalpings go,
And buried Britons rise again
With arrow and with bow,
May not the Smoker hope to take
His "cutty" from below?
So let us trust; and when at length
You lay me 'neath the yew,
Forget not, O my friends, I pray,
Pipes and tobacco too!

RICHARD LE GALLIENNE.





Next: SWEET SMOKING PIPE.

Previous: MY AFTER-DINNER CLOUD.



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