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Smoking Poems

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

Smoking Spiritualized.
The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Invocation To Tobacco.
Weed of the strange flower, weed of the earth, Killer ...

Those Ashes.
Up to the frescoed ceiling The smoke of my cigarette...

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

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

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

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

The Ballad Of The Pipe.
Oh, give me but Virginia's weed, An earthen bowl, a st...

A Bachelor's Soliloquy.
I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire, I ne'er kn...



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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