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Smoking Poems

A Brief Puff Of Smoke.
Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig, Ne'er deemed the ...

Ad Nicotina.
"_A CONSTRAINED HYPERBOLE._" Let others sing the prais...

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

An Old Sweetheart Of Mine.
As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, An...

On A Tobacco Jar.
Three hundred years ago or soe, One worthy knight an...

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...

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

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

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

Latakia.
I. When all the panes are hung with frost, Wild wiz...

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

Smoke And Chess.
We were sitting at chess as the sun went down; And he,...

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

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

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
_A SAILOR'S VERSION_. They were three jolly sailors bo...

A Farewell To Tobacco.
May the Babylonish curse Straight confound my stammeri...

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

Seasonable Sweets.
"_DON'T BE FLOWERY, JACOB._"--CHARLES DICKENS. When th...

Another Match.
_AFTER A.C. SWINBURNE._ If love were dhudeen olden, ...



THE LAST PIPE.








When head is sick and brain doth swim,
And heavy hangs each unstrung limb,
'Tis sweet through smoke-puffs, wreathing slow,
To watch the firelight flash or glow.
As each soft cloud floats up on high,
Some worry takes its wings to fly;
And Fancy dances with the flame,
Who lay so labor-crammed and lame;
While the spent Will, the slack Desire,
Re-kindle at the dying fire,
And burn to meet the morrow's sun
With all its day's work to be done.

The tedious tangle of the Law,
Your work ne'er done without some flaw;
Those ghastly streets that drive one mad,
With children joyless, elders sad,
Young men unmanly, girls going by
Bold-voiced, with eyes unmaidenly;
Christ dead two thousand years agone,
And kingdom come still all unwon;
Your own slack self that will not rise
Whole-hearted for the great emprise,--
Well, all these dark thoughts of the day
As thin smoke's shadow drift away.

And all those magic mists unclose,
And a girl's face amid them grows,--
The very look she's wont to wear,
The wild rose blossoms in her hair,
The wondrous depths of her pure eyes,
The maiden soul that 'neath them lies,
That fears to meet, yet will not fly,
Your stranger spirit drawing nigh.
What if our times seem sliding down?
She lives, creation's flower and crown.
What if your way seems dull and long?
Each tiny triumph over wrong,
Each effort up through sloth and fear,
And she and you are brought more near.
So rapping out these ashes light,--
"My pipe, you've served me well to-night."

_London Spectator_.





Next: ODE TO MY PIPE.

Previous: MOTTO FOR A TOBACCO JAR.



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