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Smoking Poems

My Cigarette.
Ma pauvre petite, My little sweet, Why do you cry...

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the learned talk of books, The glutton...

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

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

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

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

To My Cigar.
The warmth of thy glow, Well-lighted cigar, Makes h...

My Cigarette.
_WORDS AND MUSIC BY RICHARD BARNARD_. To my sweet ciga...

A Brief Puff Of Smoke.
Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig, Ne'er deemed the ...

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

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

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

The Scent Of A Good Cigar.
What is it comes through the deepening dusk,-- Somethi...

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

Old Pipe Of Mine.
Companion of my lonely hours, Full many a time 'twix...

Ingin Summer.
Jest about the time when Fall Gits to rattlin' in th...

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

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

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

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



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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