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Smoking Poems

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

Tobacco.
Let poets rhyme of what they will, Youth, Beauty, Love...

Ad Nicotina.
"_A CONSTRAINED HYPERBOLE._" Let others sing the prais...

Another Match.
_AFTER A.C. SWINBURNE._ If love were dhudeen olden, ...

In Favor Of Tobacco.
Much victuals serves for gluttony To fatten men like s...

The Scent Of A Good Cigar.
What is it comes through the deepening dusk,-- Somethi...

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

In Rotten Row.
In Rotten Row a cigarette I sat and smoked, with no re...

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...

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

My Cigarette.
_WORDS AND MUSIC BY RICHARD BARNARD_. To my sweet ciga...

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

Confession Of A Cigar Smoker.
I owe to smoking, more or less, Through life the whole...

A Loss.
How hard a thing it is to part From those we love an...

The Pipe Critic.
Say, pipe, let's talk of love; Canst aid me?...

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...

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

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

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

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



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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