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Smoking Poems

Smoking Song.
With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl, As mist ...

To My Cigar.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doc...

My Pipe.
When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me; When fr...

My Three Loves.
When Life was all a summer day, And I was under twenty...

Geordie To His Tobacco-pipe.
Good pipe, old friend, old black and colored friend, W...

A Bachelor's Soliloquy.
I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire, I ne'er kn...

Seasonable Sweets.
"_DON'T BE FLOWERY, JACOB._"--CHARLES DICKENS. When th...

The Betrothed.
"_YOU MUST CHOOSE BETWEEN ME AND YOUR CIGAR._" Open the ...

Invocation To Tobacco.
Weed of the strange flower, weed of the earth, Killer ...

Sweet Smoking Pipe.
Sweet smoking pipe; bright glowing stove, Companion ...

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

To See Her Pipe Awry.
Betty bouncer kept a stall At the corner of a street...

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

Smoke Is The Food Of Lovers.
When Cupid open'd shop, the trade he chose Was just th...

Titlepage Dedication.
"Let those smoke now who never smoked before, And those ...

My After-dinner Cloud.
Some sombre evening, when I sit And feed in solitude...

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the toper regale in his tankard of ale, Or with ...

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

How It Once Was.
Right stout and strong the worthy burghers stood, ...

What I Like.
To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream, Upon the ...



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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