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Smoking Poems

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

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

Smoking Away.
Floating away like the fountains' spray, Or the snow...

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

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

In Wreaths Of Smoke.
In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise, Faces of o...

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

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

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

Ashes.
Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown, Alone I puff my brie...

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

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

Smoking Song.
With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl, As mist ...

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

An Ode Of Thanks For Certain Cigars.
_TO CHARLES ELIOT NORTON._ Luck, my dear Norton, still...

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

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

Two Other Hearts.
Full tender beamed the light of love down from his manl...

Pernicious Weed!
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, Makes half a s...

Henry Fielding.
Friend of my youth, companion of my later days. Wh...



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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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