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Smoking Poems

To An Old Pipe.
Once your smoothly polished face Nestled lightly in a ...

The Patriotic Smoker's Lament.
Tell me, shade of Walter Raleigh, Briton of the true...

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

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

My Pipe.
When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me; When fr...

The Ballade Of Tobacco.
When verdant youth sees life afar, And first sets ou...

Too Great A Sacrifice.
The maid, as by the papers doth appear, Whom fifty tho...

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

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

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

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

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

A Warning.
HE. I loathe all books. I hate to see The world a...

Sweet Smoking Pipe.
Sweet smoking pipe; bright glowing stove, Companion ...

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

Effusion By A Cigar Smoker.
Warriors! who from the cannon's mouth blow fire, ...

A Poet's Pipe.
_FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE._ A poet's pipe...

Virginia Tobacco.
Two maiden dames of sixty-two Together long had dwel...

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

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



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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