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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

In The Ol' Tobacker Patch.
I jess kind o' feel so lonesome that I don't know what to...

The Cigar.
Some sigh for this and that, My wishes don't go far;...

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

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

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

"keats Took Snuff."
"Keats took snuff.... It has been established by the ...

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

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

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

To See Her Pipe Awry.
Betty bouncer kept a stall At the corner of a street...

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

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...

Henry Fielding.
Friend of my youth, companion of my later days. Wh...

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

To My Cigar.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doc...

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

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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