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Smoking Poems

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

Envoi.
Smokers, who doubt or con or pro, And ye who dare to...

Sublime Tobacco.
But here the herald of the self-same mouth Came breath...

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

On Receipt Of A Rare Pipe.
I lifted off the lid with anxious care, Removed the ...

Smoke And Chess.
We were sitting at chess as the sun went down; And he,...

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
'Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,-- Or p'raps a ...

Choosing A Wife By A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Tube, I love thee as my life; By thee I mean to choose...

Cigars And Beer.
Here With my beer I sit, While g...

Tobacco.
Let poets rhyme of what they will, Youth, Beauty, Love...

Smoking Song.
With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl, As mist ...

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

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

A Symphony In Smoke.
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet, Who likes to muse and ...

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

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

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

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

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

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



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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