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Smoking Poems

Ashes.
Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown, Alone I puff my brie...

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

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

Those Ashes.
Up to the frescoed ceiling The smoke of my cigarette...

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

Pipes And Beer.
Before I was famous I used to sit In a dull old unde...

Smoking Song.
With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl, As mist ...

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

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

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

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

An Encomium On Tobacco.
Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight, And...

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

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

A Good Cigar.
Oh, 'tis well and enough, A whiff or a puff From th...

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

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

To My Cigar.
The warmth of thy glow, Well-lighted cigar, Makes h...

The Betrothed.
"_YOU MUST CHOOSE BETWEEN ME AND YOUR CIGAR._" Open the ...

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



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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