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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My Cigarette.
My cigarette! The amulet That charms afar unrest and...

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

My Meerschaum Pipe.
Old meerschaum pipe, I'll fondly wipe Thy scarred an...

My Three Loves.
When Life was all a summer day, And I was under twenty...

Motto For A Tobacco Jar.
Come! don't refuse sweet Nicotina's aid, But woo the...

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

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

Pernicious Weed!
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, Makes half a s...

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

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

Two Other Hearts.
Full tender beamed the light of love down from his manl...

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

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



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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