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Smoking Poems

The Indian weed, withered quite, Green at noon, cut do...

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

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

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

The Happy Smoking-ground.
When that last pipe is smoked at last And pouch and ...

Smokers, who doubt or con or pro, And ye who dare to...

To The Rev. Mr. Newton.
Says the Pipe to the Snuff-box, "I can't understand ...

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

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

On Receipt Of A Rare Pipe.
I lifted off the lid with anxious care, Removed the ...

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

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

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

He Respondeth.
SHE. You still persist in using, I observe with g...

The Smoker's Reverie.
(_OCTOBER._) I'm sitting at dusk 'neath the old beeche...

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

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

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

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

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


Let others praise the god of wine,
Or Venus, love, and beauty's smile;
I choose a theme not less divine,--
The plant that grows in Cuba's Isle.

The old Greeks err'd who bound with bays
Apollo's brow; the verdant crown
He wore, when measuring their days,
Grew in the West, where he went down.

An idle tale they also told;
They said he gave them frankincense,
Borne by some tree he loved of old;
If so, he gave a mere pretence.

For the true offspring of his love--
Tobacco--grew far o'er the sea,
Where Leucothoe from above
Led him as honey leads the bee,

Till on that plant he paus'd to gaze
Some moments ere he held his way,
And cheer her with his warmest rays,
Heedless of time or length of day.

Then with a sigh his brows he wreath'd
With leaves that care and toil beguile,
And bless'd, as their perfume he breath'd,
The plant that grows in Cuba's Isle.



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