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Smoking Poems

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

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

Inscription For A Tobacco Jar.
Keep me at hand; and as my fumes arise, You'll find _a...

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

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

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

In Rotten Row.
In Rotten Row a cigarette I sat and smoked, with no re...

"keats Took Snuff."
"Keats took snuff.... It has been established by the ...

An Ode Of Thanks For Certain Cigars.
_TO CHARLES ELIOT NORTON._ Luck, my dear Norton, still...

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

To The Tobacco Pipe.
Dear piece of fascinating clay! 'Tis thine to smooth l...

An Encomium On Tobacco.
Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight, And...

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

Ashes.
Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown, Alone I puff my brie...

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

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

Cannon Song.
And it has turned since you and I Set out to face th...

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

The True Leucothoe.
Let others praise the god of wine, Or Venus, love, a...

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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