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Smoking Poems

The Patriotic Smoker's Lament.
Tell me, shade of Walter Raleigh, Briton of the true...

A Good Cigar.
Oh, 'tis well and enough, A whiff or a puff From th...

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

Chibouque.
At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan, The pacha in his pala...

An Old Sweetheart Of Mine.
As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, An...

An Encomium On Tobacco.
Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight, And...

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

Another Match.
_AFTER A.C. SWINBURNE._ If love were dhudeen olden, ...

A Warning.
HE. I loathe all books. I hate to see The world a...

Ode To My Pipe.
O Blessed pipe, That now I clutch within my gripe, ...

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

Tobacco.
The Indian weed, withered quite, Green at noon, cut do...

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

The Smoke Traveller.
When I puff my cigarette, Straight I see a Spanish g...

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

The Pipe You Make Yourself.
There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum pipes a...

"a Free Puff."
Do you remember when first we met? I was turning twent...

'twas Off The Blue Canaries.
'Twas off the blue Canary isles, A glorious summer d...

To An Old Pipe.
Once your smoothly polished face Nestled lightly in a ...

Cannon Song.
And it has turned since you and I Set out to face th...



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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