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Smoking Poems

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

Choosing A Wife By A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Tube, I love thee as my life; By thee I mean to choose...

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

An Old Sweetheart Of Mine.
As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, An...

My Three Loves.
When Life was all a summer day, And I was under twenty...

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the learned talk of books, The glutton...

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

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

Motto For A Tobacco Jar.
Come! don't refuse sweet Nicotina's aid, But woo the...

Too Great A Sacrifice.
The maid, as by the papers doth appear, Whom fifty tho...

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

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

In Wreaths Of Smoke.
In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise, Faces of o...

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

If I Were King.
If I were king, my pipe should be premier. The skies o...

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

The Smoke Traveller.
When I puff my cigarette, Straight I see a Spanish g...

A Warning.
HE. I loathe all books. I hate to see The world a...

Virginia Tobacco.
Two maiden dames of sixty-two Together long had dwel...

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



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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