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Smoking Poems

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

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

To An Old Pipe.
Once your smoothly polished face Nestled lightly in a ...

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

My Pipe.
When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me; When fr...

Ode To My Pipe.
O Blessed pipe, That now I clutch within my gripe, ...

Pernicious Weed!
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, Makes half a s...

A Good Cigar.
Oh, 'tis well and enough, A whiff or a puff From th...

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

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

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

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

My Meerschaums.
Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved, High...

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

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

Henry Fielding.
Friend of my youth, companion of my later days. Wh...

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

My Cigarette.
Ma pauvre petite, My little sweet, Why do you cry...

A Valentine.
What's my love's name? Guess her name. Nina? No....

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



THE PATRIOTIC SMOKER'S LAMENT.








Tell me, shade of Walter Raleigh,
Briton of the truest type,
When that too devoted valet
Quenched your first-recorded pipe,
Were you pondering the opinion,
As you watched the airy coil,
That the virtue of Virginia
Might be bred in British soil?

You transplanted the potato,
'Twas a more enduring gift
Than the wisdom of a Plato
To our poverty and thrift.
That respected root has flourished
Nobly for a nation's need,
But our brightest dreams are nourished
Ever on a foreign weed.

From the deepest meditation
Of the philosophic scribe,
From the poet's inspiration,
For the cynic's polished gibe,
We invoke narcotic nurses
In their jargon from afar,
I indite these modest verses
On a polyglot cigar.

Leaf that lulls a Turkish Aga
May a scholar's soul renew,
Fancy spring from Larranaga,
History from honey-dew.
When the teacher and the tyro
Spirit-manna fondly seek,
'Tis the cigarette from Cairo,
Or a compound from the Greek.

But no British-born aroma
Is fit incense to the Queen,
Nature gives her best diploma
To the alien nicotine.
We are doomed to her ill-favor,
For the plant that's native grown
Has a patriotic flavor
Too exclusively our own.

O my country, could your smoker
Boast your "shag," or even "twist,"
Every man were mediocre
Save the blest tobacconist!
He will point immortal morals,
Make all common praises mute,
Who shall win our grateful laurels
With a national cheroot.

_The St. James Gazette_.





Next: TO AN OLD PIPE.

Previous: TO THE TOBACCO PIPE.



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