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Smoking Poems

The Smoker's Calendar.
When January's cold appears, A glowing pipe my spirit ...

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

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

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

Sic Transit.
Just a note that I found on my table, By the bills of ...

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

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

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

To See Her Pipe Awry.
Betty bouncer kept a stall At the corner of a street...

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
'Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,-- Or p'raps a ...

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

A Warning.
HE. I loathe all books. I hate to see The world a...

Meerschaum.
Come to me, O my meerschaum, For the vile street organ...

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

Her Brother's Cigarette.
Like raven's wings her locks of jet, Her soft eyes tou...

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

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

A Song Without A Name.
AIR: "_THE VICAR OF BRAY_." 'Twas in Queen Bess's gold...

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

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...



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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