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Smoking Poems

Sublime Tobacco.
But here the herald of the self-same mouth Came breath...

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

Ode To Tobacco.
Come then, Tobacco, new-found friend, Come, and thy ...

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

Inscription For A Tobacco Jar.
Keep me at hand; and as my fumes arise, You'll find _a...

The Cigar.
Some sigh for this and that, My wishes don't go far;...

My Friendly Pipe.
Let sybarites still dream delights While smoking cig...

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

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

Latakia.
I. When all the panes are hung with frost, Wild wiz...

With Pipe And Book.
With Pipe and Book at close of day, Oh, what is sweete...

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

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

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

My Cigar.
In spite of my physician, who is, _entre nous_, a fogy, ...

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

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

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

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

The Happy Smoking-ground.
When that last pipe is smoked at last And pouch 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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