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Smoking Poems

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

Tobacco Is An Indian Weed.
Tobacco's but an Indian weed, Grows green at morn, cut...

The Betrothed.
"_YOU MUST CHOOSE BETWEEN ME AND YOUR CIGAR._" Open the ...

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

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
_A SAILOR'S VERSION_. They were three jolly sailors bo...

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

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

Epitaph
_ON A YOUNG LADY WHO DESIRED THAT TOBACCO MIGHT BE PLANTED OV...

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

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

He Respondeth.
SHE. You still persist in using, I observe with g...

To My Meerschaum.
There's a charm in the sun-crested hills, In the qui...

Virginia's Kingly Plant.
_BY AN "OLD SALT."_ Oh, muse! grant me the power (I...

To The Tobacco Pipe.
Dear piece of fascinating clay! 'Tis thine to smooth l...

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

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

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

In Wreaths Of Smoke.
In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise, Faces of o...

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

'twas Off The Blue Canaries.
'Twas off the blue Canary isles, A glorious summer d...



THE PIPE CRITIC.








Say, pipe, let's talk of love;
Canst aid me? By my life,
I'll ask not gods above
To help me choose a wife;
But to thy gentle self I'll give the puzzling strife.

Thy color let me find,
And blue like smoke her eyes;
A healthy store her mind
As that which in thee lies,--
An evanescent draft, whose incense mounts the skies.

And, pipe, a breath like thine;
Her hair an amber gold,
And wrought in shapes as fine
As that which now I hold;
A grace in every limb, her form thy slender mould.

And when her lips I kiss,
Oh, may she burn like thee,
And strive to give me bliss!
A comforter to be
When friends wax cold, time fades, and all departs from me.

And may she hide in smoke,
As you, my friend, have done,
The failings that would choke
My virtues every one,
Turn grief to laughing jest, or painful thought to fun.

Her aid be such as thine
To stir my brain a bit.
When 'round this hearth of mine
Friends sit and banter wit,
She'll shape a well-turned phrase, a subtle jest to hit.

In short, my sole delight
(Why, pipe, you sputter so!),
Whose angel visage bright
(And at me ashes throw!)
Shall never rival fear. You're jealous now, I know.

Nay, pipe, I'll not leave thee;
For of thy gifts there's one
That's passing dear to me
Whose equal she'd have none,--
The gift of peace serene; she'd have, alas, a tongue!

WALTER LITTLEFIELD.





Next: A SONG WITHOUT A NAME.

Previous: MY CIGARETTE.



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