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Smoking Poems

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

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

A Pot, And A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Some praise taking snuff; And 'tis pleasant en...

Chibouque.
At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan, The pacha in his pala...

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

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

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

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

Cannon Song.
Come, seniors, come, and fill your pipes, Your richest...

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

The Cigar.
Some sigh for this and that, My wishes don't go far;...

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...

A Song Without A Name.
AIR: "_THE VICAR OF BRAY_." 'Twas in Queen Bess's gold...

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

To C.f. Bradford.
_ON THE GIFT OF A MEERSCHAUM PIPE._ The pipe came safe...

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

Geordie To His Tobacco-pipe.
Good pipe, old friend, old black and colored friend, W...

Sic Transit.
Just a note that I found on my table, By the bills of ...

My After-dinner Cloud.
Some sombre evening, when I sit And feed in solitude...

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



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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