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Smoking Poems

My Little Brown Pipe.
I have a little comforter, I carry in my pocket: ...

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

To C.f. Bradford.
_ON THE GIFT OF A MEERSCHAUM PIPE._ The pipe came safe...

Titlepage Dedication.
"Let those smoke now who never smoked before, And those ...

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

My Cigarette.
Ma pauvre petite, My little sweet, Why do you cry...

"a Free Puff."
Do you remember when first we met? I was turning twent...

Cigarette Rings.
How it blows! How it rains! I'll not turn out to-night; ...

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

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

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

Sweet Smoking Pipe.
Sweet smoking pipe; bright glowing stove, Companion ...

Sublime Tobacco.
But here the herald of the self-same mouth Came breath...

The True Leucothoe.
Let others praise the god of wine, Or Venus, love, a...

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

Wrongfellow.
I like cigars Beneath the stars, Upon the water...

What I Like.
To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream, Upon the ...

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

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

The Happy Smoking-ground.
When that last pipe is smoked at last And pouch and ...



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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