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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

It May Be Weeds.
It may be weeds I've gathered too; But even weeds...

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

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

Geordie To His Tobacco-pipe.
Good pipe, old friend, old black and colored friend, W...

Cannon Song.
And it has turned since you and I Set out to face th...

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...

The Smoker's Calendar.
When January's cold appears, A glowing pipe my spirit ...

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

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

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

With Pipe And Book.
With Pipe and Book at close of day, Oh, what is sweete...

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

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

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

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

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



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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