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Smoking Poems

To My Meerschaum.
There's a charm in the sun-crested hills, In the qui...

My Pipe.
When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me; When fr...

The Ballad Of The Pipe.
Oh, give me but Virginia's weed, An earthen bowl, a st...

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...

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

The Patriotic Smoker's Lament.
Tell me, shade of Walter Raleigh, Briton of the true...

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
'Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,-- Or p'raps a ...

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

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

A Brief Puff Of Smoke.
Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig, Ne'er deemed the ...

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

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

Smoke Is The Food Of Lovers.
When Cupid open'd shop, the trade he chose Was just th...

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

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

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

The Pipe You Make Yourself.
There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum pipes a...

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

Tobacco Is An Indian Weed.
Tobacco's but an Indian weed, Grows green at morn, cut...



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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