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Smoking Poems

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

A Valentine.
What's my love's name? Guess her name. Nina? No....

Motto For A Tobacco Jar.
Come! don't refuse sweet Nicotina's aid, But woo the...

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

She.
The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint! Around my pretty...

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

He Respondeth.
SHE. You still persist in using, I observe with g...

In Wreaths Of Smoke.
In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise, Faces of o...

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

Pipe And Tobacco.
When my pipe burns bright and clear, The gods I need n...

If I Were King.
If I were king, my pipe should be premier. The skies o...

Her Brother's Cigarette.
Like raven's wings her locks of jet, Her soft eyes tou...

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

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

A Pot, And A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Some praise taking snuff; And 'tis pleasant en...

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

Cigarette Rings.
How it blows! How it rains! I'll not turn out to-night; ...

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

Ode To Tobacco.
Thou, who when fears attack Bidst them avaunt, and Bla...

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



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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