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Smoking Poems

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the toper regale in his tankard of ale, Or with ...

My Cigarette.
My cigarette! The amulet That charms afar unrest and...

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

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

A Symphony In Smoke.
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet, Who likes to muse and ...

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

A Winter Evening Hymn To My Fire.
Nicotia, dearer to the Muse Than all the grape's bewil...

To My Meerschaum.
There's a charm in the sun-crested hills, In the qui...

My Cigar.
In spite of my physician, who is, _entre nous_, a fogy, ...

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

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

Motto For A Tobacco Jar.
Come! don't refuse sweet Nicotina's aid, But woo the...

Ode To Tobacco.
Thou, who when fears attack Bidst them avaunt, and Bla...

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

The Betrothed.
"_YOU MUST CHOOSE BETWEEN ME AND YOUR CIGAR._" Open the ...

The Pipe You Make Yourself.
There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum pipes a...

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

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

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

Wrongfellow.
I like cigars Beneath the stars, Upon the water...



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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