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Smoking Poems

Envoi.
Smokers, who doubt or con or pro, And ye who dare to...

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

In The Ol' Tobacker Patch.
I jess kind o' feel so lonesome that I don't know what to...

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

Too Great A Sacrifice.
The maid, as by the papers doth appear, Whom fifty tho...

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

Sweet Smoking Pipe.
Sweet smoking pipe; bright glowing stove, Companion ...

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

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

A Bachelor's Views.
A pipe, a book, A cosy nook, A fire,--at least ...

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

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

In Rotten Row.
In Rotten Row a cigarette I sat and smoked, with no re...

The Dreamer's Pipe.
Meerschaum, thing with amber tip, Clutched between the...

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...

Epitaph
_ON A YOUNG LADY WHO DESIRED THAT TOBACCO MIGHT BE PLANTED OV...

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

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

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

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



THE OLD CLAY PIPE.








There's a lot of solid comfort
In an old clay pipe, I find,
If you're kind of out of humor
Or in trouble in your mind.
When you're feeling awful lonesome
And don't know just what to do,
There's a heap of satisfaction
If you smoke a pipe or two.

The ten thousand pleasant memories
That are buried in your soul
Are playing hide and seek with you
Around that smoking bowl.
These are mighty restful moments:
You're at peace with all the world,
And the panorama changes
As the thin blue smoke is curled.

Now you cross the bridge of sorrows,
Now you enter pleasant lands,
And before an open doorway,
You will linger to shake hands
With a lithe and girlish figure
That is coming through the door;
Ah! you recognize the features:
You have seen that face before.

You are at the dear old homestead
Where you spent those happy years;
You are romping with the children;
You are smiling through your tears;
You have fought and whipped the bully
You are eight and he is ten.
Oh! how rapidly we travel,--
You are now a boy again.

You approach the open doorway,
And before the old armchair
You will stop and kiss the grandma,
You will smooth the thin white hair;
You will read the open Bible,
For the lamp is lit, you see.
It is now your hour for bed-time
And you kneel at mother's knee.

Still you linger at the hearthstone;
You are loath to leave the place.
When an apple cut's in progress:
You must wait and dance with Grace.

What's the matter with the music?
Only this: The pipe is broke,
And a thousand pleasant fancies
Vanish promptly with the smoke.

A.B. VAN FLEET.





Next: PERNICIOUS WEED!

Previous: THE BALLAD OF THE PIPE.



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