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Smoking Poems

A Poet's Pipe.
_FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE._ A poet's pipe...

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

Smoking Away.
Floating away like the fountains' spray, Or the snow...

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

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

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

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

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

Two Other Hearts.
Full tender beamed the light of love down from his manl...

Old Pipe Of Mine.
Companion of my lonely hours, Full many a time 'twix...

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

To My Cigar.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doc...

"a Free Puff."
Do you remember when first we met? I was turning twent...

On A Tobacco Jar.
Three hundred years ago or soe, One worthy knight an...

To See Her Pipe Awry.
Betty bouncer kept a stall At the corner of a street...

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

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

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...

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

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



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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