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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

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

To My Cigar.
The warmth of thy glow, Well-lighted cigar, Makes h...

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

The Latest Convert.
I've been in love some scores of times, With Amy, Ne...

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

A Good Cigar.
Oh, 'tis well and enough, A whiff or a puff From th...

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

In Favor Of Tobacco.
Much victuals serves for gluttony To fatten men like s...

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

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

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

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

On A Broken Pipe.
Neglected now it lies, a cold clay form, So late with ...

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

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

The Lost Lotus.
'Tis said that in the sun-embroidered East, There dw...

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



THE LATEST CONVERT.








I've been in love some scores of times,
With Amy, Nellie, Katie, Mary--
To name them all would stretch my rhymes
From here as far as Demerary.

But each has wed some other man,--
Girls always do, I find, in real life,--
And I am left alone to scan
The horizon of my own ideal life.

I still survive. I was, I think,
Not born to run in double harness;
I did not shirk my food and drink
When Nellie married Harry Carnice.

But I am wedded to my pipe!
That faithful friend, nought can provoke it;
Should it grow cold, I gently wipe
Its mouth, then fill it, light, and smoke it.

But it is sweet to kiss; and I
Should love to kiss a wife and pet her--
She scolds? Straight to my pipe I fly;
Her scowls through fragrant smoke look better.

There's merry Maud--with her I'd dare
To brave the matrimonial ocean;
_She_ would not pout or fret, but wear
A constant smile of sweet devotion.

How know I that she will not change,
My wishes at defiance set? Oh!
(Pray this in smallest type arrange)
She smokes--at times--a cigareto.

F.W. LITTLETON HAY.





Next: CONFESSION OF A CIGAR SMOKER.

Previous: PIPE AND TOBACCO.



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