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Smoking Poems

The Last Pipe.
When head is sick and brain doth swim, And heavy hangs...

My Meerschaums.
Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved, High...

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

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

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

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

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
_A SAILOR'S VERSION_. They were three jolly sailors bo...

To The Rev. Mr. Newton.
Says the Pipe to the Snuff-box, "I can't understand ...

The Old Clay Pipe.
There's a lot of solid comfort In an old clay pipe, ...

Meerschaum.
Come to me, O my meerschaum, For the vile street organ...

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

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

The Pipe Critic.
Say, pipe, let's talk of love; Canst aid me?...

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

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

A Song Without A Name.
AIR: "_THE VICAR OF BRAY_." 'Twas in Queen Bess's gold...

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

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

Knickerbocker.
Shade of Herrick, Muse of Locker, Help me sing of Knic...

In The Ol' Tobacker Patch.
I jess kind o' feel so lonesome that I don't know what to...



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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