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Smoking Poems

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

It May Be Weeds.
It may be weeds I've gathered too; But even weeds...

Knickerbocker.
Shade of Herrick, Muse of Locker, Help me sing of Knic...

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

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

She.
The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint! Around my pretty...

Smoke Is The Food Of Lovers.
When Cupid open'd shop, the trade he chose Was just th...

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

Edifying Reflections Of A Tobacco-smoker.
_SET TO MUSIC BY JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. TRANS...

My Little Brown Pipe.
I have a little comforter, I carry in my pocket: ...

Geordie To His Tobacco-pipe.
Good pipe, old friend, old black and colored friend, W...

The Scent Of A Good Cigar.
What is it comes through the deepening dusk,-- Somethi...

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

My Three Loves.
When Life was all a summer day, And I was under twenty...

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

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

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

A Bachelor's Views.
A pipe, a book, A cosy nook, A fire,--at least ...

Smoking Song.
With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl, As mist ...

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



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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