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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

Tobacco.
The Indian weed, withered quite, Green at noon, cut do...

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

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

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

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

The Duet.
I was smoking a cigarette; Maud, my wife, and the te...

Clouds.
Mortals say their heart is light When the clouds aroun...

Smoking Away.
Floating away like the fountains' spray, Or the snow...

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...

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

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

Maecenas Bids His Friend To Dine.
I beg you come to-night and dine. A welcome waits you, a...

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

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

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

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

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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