O, rich young lord, thou ridest by With looks of high disdain; It chafes me not thy title high, Thy blood of oldest strain. The lady riding at thy side Is but in name thy promised bride, Ride on, young lord, ride on! Her father wills... Read more of Compensation at Martin Luther King.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

The Last Pipe.
When head is sick and brain doth swim, And heavy hangs...

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

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

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

Edifying Reflections Of A Tobacco-smoker.
_SET TO MUSIC BY JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. TRANS...

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

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

A Winter Evening Hymn To My Fire.
Nicotia, dearer to the Muse Than all the grape's bewil...

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

Sic Transit.
Just a note that I found on my table, By the bills of ...

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

Ingin Summer.
Jest about the time when Fall Gits to rattlin' in th...

My Friendly Pipe.
Let sybarites still dream delights While smoking cig...

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

To The Tobacco Pipe.
Dear piece of fascinating clay! 'Tis thine to smooth l...

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the learned talk of books, The glutton...

Virginia's Kingly Plant.
_BY AN "OLD SALT."_ Oh, muse! grant me the power (I...

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

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

A Symphony In Smoke.
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet, Who likes to muse and ...



THE SMOKER'S REVERIE.








(_OCTOBER._)


I'm sitting at dusk 'neath the old beechen tree,
With its leaves by the autumn made ripe;
While they cling to the stems like old age unto life,
I dream of the days when I'll rest from this strife,
And in peace smoke my brierwood pipe.

O my brierwood pipe!--of bright fancy the twin,
What a medley of forms you create;
Every puff of white smoke seems a vision as fair
As the poet's bright dream, and like dreams fades in air,
While the dreamer dreams on of his fate.

The fleecy white clouds that now float in the sky,
Form the visions I love most to see;
Fairy shapes that I saw in my boyhood's first dreams
Seem to beckon me on, while beyond them there gleams
A bright future, in waiting for me.

O my brierwood pipe! I ne'er loved thee as now,
As that fair form and face steal above;
See, she beckons me on to where roses are spread,
And she points to my fancy the bright land ahead,
Where the winds whisper nothing but love.

Oh, answer, my pipe, shall my dream be as fair
When it changes to dreams of the past?
When autumn's chill winds make this leaf look as sere
As the leaves on the beech-tree that shelters me here,
Will the tree's _heart_ be chilled by the blast?

While musing, around me has gathered a heap
Of the leaflets, all dying and dead;
And I see in my reverie plainly revealed
The slope of life's hill, in my boyhood concealed
By the forms that fair fancy had bred.

While I sit on the banks of the beautiful stream,
Picking roses that bloom by its side,
I know that the shallop will certainly come,
When the roses are withered, to carry me home,
And that life will go out with the tide.

O my brierwood pipe! may the heart be as light
When memory supplanteth the dream;
When the sun has gone down may the sunbeam remain,
And life's roses, though dead, all their fragrance retain,
Till they catch at Eternity's gleam.

ANON.





Next: A BRIEF PUFF OF SMOKE.

Previous: EPITAPH



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