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Smoking Poems

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

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

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...

Those Ashes.
Up to the frescoed ceiling The smoke of my cigarette...

The Old Clay Pipe.
There's a lot of solid comfort In an old clay pipe, ...

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

The Pipe You Make Yourself.
There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum pipes a...

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

Ode To Tobacco.
Thou, who when fears attack Bidst them avaunt, and Bla...

A Bachelor's Soliloquy.
I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire, I ne'er kn...

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

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

A Symphony In Smoke.
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet, Who likes to muse and ...

My After-dinner Cloud.
Some sombre evening, when I sit And feed in solitude...

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

On Receipt Of A Rare Pipe.
I lifted off the lid with anxious care, Removed the ...

"keats Took Snuff."
"Keats took snuff.... It has been established by the ...

Pipes And Beer.
Before I was famous I used to sit In a dull old unde...

Ingin Summer.
Jest about the time when Fall Gits to rattlin' in th...

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



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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