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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ode To Tobacco.
Come then, Tobacco, new-found friend, Come, and thy ...

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

Knickerbocker.
Shade of Herrick, Muse of Locker, Help me sing of Knic...

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

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

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

Effusion By A Cigar Smoker.
Warriors! who from the cannon's mouth blow fire, ...

To An Old Pipe.
Once your smoothly polished face Nestled lightly in a ...

Another Match.
_AFTER A.C. SWINBURNE._ If love were dhudeen olden, ...

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

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

She.
The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint! Around my pretty...

The Lost Lotus.
'Tis said that in the sun-embroidered East, There dw...



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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