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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

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

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...

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

How It Once Was.
Right stout and strong the worthy burghers stood, ...

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

Edifying Reflections Of A Tobacco-smoker.
_SET TO MUSIC BY JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. TRANS...

The Dreamer's Pipe.
Meerschaum, thing with amber tip, Clutched between the...

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

Smoking Away.
Floating away like the fountains' spray, Or the snow...

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

Ode To My Pipe.
O Blessed pipe, That now I clutch within my gripe, ...

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

He Respondeth.
SHE. You still persist in using, I observe with g...

"a Free Puff."
Do you remember when first we met? I was turning twent...

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

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



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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