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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

Tobacco Is An Indian Weed.
Tobacco's but an Indian weed, Grows green at morn, cut...

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

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

To The Tobacco Pipe.
Dear piece of fascinating clay! 'Tis thine to smooth l...

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

The Pipe Critic.
Say, pipe, let's talk of love; Canst aid me?...

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

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

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

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

The Last Pipe.
When head is sick and brain doth swim, And heavy hangs...

Maecenas Bids His Friend To Dine.
I beg you come to-night and dine. A welcome waits you, a...

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

She.
The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint! Around my pretty...

It May Be Weeds.
It may be weeds I've gathered too; But even weeds...

The Patriotic Smoker's Lament.
Tell me, shade of Walter Raleigh, Briton of the true...

My Pipe.
When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me; When fr...



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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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