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Smoking Poems

On A Broken Pipe.
Neglected now it lies, a cold clay form, So late with ...

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

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

The Ballad Of The Pipe.
Oh, give me but Virginia's weed, An earthen bowl, a st...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Duet.
I was smoking a cigarette; Maud, my wife, and the te...

My Cigarette.
My cigarette! The amulet That charms afar unrest and...

Cannon Song.
And it has turned since you and I Set out to face th...

My Meerschaum Pipe.
Old meerschaum pipe, I'll fondly wipe Thy scarred an...

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

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

Confession Of A Cigar Smoker.
I owe to smoking, more or less, Through life the whole...

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

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



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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