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Smoking Poems

To C.f. Bradford.
_ON THE GIFT OF A MEERSCHAUM PIPE._ The pipe came safe...

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

Choosing A Wife By A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Tube, I love thee as my life; By thee I mean to choose...

Ode To Tobacco.
Come then, Tobacco, new-found friend, Come, and thy ...

Cannon Song.
Come, seniors, come, and fill your pipes, Your richest...

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

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

Tobacco Is An Indian Weed.
Tobacco's but an Indian weed, Grows green at morn, cut...

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

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

Virginia's Kingly Plant.
_BY AN "OLD SALT."_ Oh, muse! grant me the power (I...

Pernicious Weed!
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, Makes half a s...

Confession Of A Cigar Smoker.
I owe to smoking, more or less, Through life the whole...

Acrostic.
To thee, blest weed, whose sovereign wiles, O'er cankere...

My Little Brown Pipe.
I have a little comforter, I carry in my pocket: ...

A Winter Evening Hymn To My Fire.
Nicotia, dearer to the Muse Than all the grape's bewil...

A Symphony In Smoke.
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet, Who likes to muse and ...

The Ballade Of Tobacco.
When verdant youth sees life afar, And first sets ou...

A Farewell To Tobacco.
May the Babylonish curse Straight confound my stammeri...

Ashes.
Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown, Alone I puff my brie...



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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