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Smoking Poems

Maecenas Bids His Friend To Dine.
I beg you come to-night and dine. A welcome waits you, a...

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...

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

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

A Pot, And A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Some praise taking snuff; And 'tis pleasant en...

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

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

Chibouque.
At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan, The pacha in his pala...

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

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

How It Once Was.
Right stout and strong the worthy burghers stood, ...

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

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

To The Rev. Mr. Newton.
Says the Pipe to the Snuff-box, "I can't understand ...

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

The Smoker's Reverie.
(_OCTOBER._) I'm sitting at dusk 'neath the old beeche...

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

Latakia.
I. When all the panes are hung with frost, Wild wiz...

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

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



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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