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Smoking Poems

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

Ad Nicotina.
"_A CONSTRAINED HYPERBOLE._" Let others sing the prais...

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

A Loss.
How hard a thing it is to part From those we love an...

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

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

Virginia Tobacco.
Two maiden dames of sixty-two Together long had dwel...

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

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

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

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

Sic Transit.
Just a note that I found on my table, By the bills of ...

To My Meerschaum.
There's a charm in the sun-crested hills, In the qui...

My Cigarette.
My cigarette! The amulet That charms afar unrest and...

Henry Fielding.
Friend of my youth, companion of my later days. Wh...

My Friendly Pipe.
Let sybarites still dream delights While smoking cig...

Too Great A Sacrifice.
The maid, as by the papers doth appear, Whom fifty tho...

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

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

The Smoker's Reverie.
(_OCTOBER._) I'm sitting at dusk 'neath the old beeche...



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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