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Smoking Poems

Seasonable Sweets.
"_DON'T BE FLOWERY, JACOB._"--CHARLES DICKENS. When th...

Acrostic.
To thee, blest weed, whose sovereign wiles, O'er cankere...

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

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

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
_A SAILOR'S VERSION_. They were three jolly sailors bo...

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

Cigars And Beer.
Here With my beer I sit, While g...

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

Epitaph
_ON A YOUNG LADY WHO DESIRED THAT TOBACCO MIGHT BE PLANTED OV...

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

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

Pernicious Weed!
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, Makes half a s...

'twas Off The Blue Canaries.
'Twas off the blue Canary isles, A glorious summer d...

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

My Cigarette.
My cigarette! The amulet That charms afar unrest and...

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

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

On A Broken Pipe.
Neglected now it lies, a cold clay form, So late with ...

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

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



THE SMOKER'S CALENDAR.








When January's cold appears,
A glowing pipe my spirit cheers;
And still it glads the length'ning day
'Neath February's milder sway.
When March's keener winds succeed,
What charms me like the burning weed
When April mounts the solar car,
I join him, puffing a cigar;
And May, so beautiful and bright,
Still finds the pleasing weed a-light.
To balmy zephyrs it gives zest
When June in gayest livery's drest.
Through July, Flora's offspring smile,
But still Nicotia's can beguile;
And August, when its fruits are ripe,
Matures my pleasure in a pipe.
September finds me in the garden,
Communing with a long churchwarden.
Even in the wane of dull October
I smoke my pipe and sip my "robar."
November's soaking show'rs require
The smoking pipe and blazing fire.
The darkest day in drear December's--
That's lighted by their glowing embers.

ANON.





Next: AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE.

Previous: CONFESSION OF A CIGAR SMOKER.



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