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Smoking Poems

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

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

Cigars And Beer.
Here With my beer I sit, While g...

Virginia Tobacco.
Two maiden dames of sixty-two Together long had dwel...

The Farmer's Pipe.
Make a picture, dreamy smoke, In my still and cosey ...

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

Titlepage Dedication.
"Let those smoke now who never smoked before, And those ...

To My Cigar.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doc...

Clouds.
Mortals say their heart is light When the clouds aroun...

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

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

A Brief Puff Of Smoke.
Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig, Ne'er deemed the ...

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

Tobacco.
Let poets rhyme of what they will, Youth, Beauty, Love...

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

Wrongfellow.
I like cigars Beneath the stars, Upon the water...

The Old Clay Pipe.
There's a lot of solid comfort In an old clay pipe, ...

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

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

Effusion By A Cigar Smoker.
Warriors! who from the cannon's mouth blow fire, ...



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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