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Smoking Poems

Envoi.
Smokers, who doubt or con or pro, And ye who dare to...

Cannon Song.
Come, seniors, come, and fill your pipes, Your richest...

An Encomium On Tobacco.
Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight, And...

Tobacco.
Let poets rhyme of what they will, Youth, Beauty, Love...

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

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

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

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

My Meerschaums.
Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved, High...

Tobacco.
The Indian weed, withered quite, Green at noon, cut do...

Sic Transit.
Just a note that I found on my table, By the bills of ...

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

A Song Without A Name.
AIR: "_THE VICAR OF BRAY_." 'Twas in Queen Bess's gold...

Invocation To Tobacco.
Weed of the strange flower, weed of the earth, Killer ...

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

An Ode Of Thanks For Certain Cigars.
_TO CHARLES ELIOT NORTON._ Luck, my dear Norton, still...

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

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

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

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



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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