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Smoking Poems

The Ballade Of Tobacco.
When verdant youth sees life afar, And first sets ou...

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

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

The True Leucothoe.
Let others praise the god of wine, Or Venus, love, a...

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

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

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

To My Cigar.
The warmth of thy glow, Well-lighted cigar, Makes h...

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

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

Smoking Spiritualized.
The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently...

My Cigarette.
_WORDS AND MUSIC BY RICHARD BARNARD_. To my sweet ciga...

A Winter Evening Hymn To My Fire.
Nicotia, dearer to the Muse Than all the grape's bewil...

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

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the toper regale in his tankard of ale, Or with ...

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...

An Encomium On Tobacco.
Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight, And...

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

Pipe And Tobacco.
When my pipe burns bright and clear, The gods I need n...

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



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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