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Smoking Poems

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

The Lost Lotus.
'Tis said that in the sun-embroidered East, There dw...

Wrongfellow.
I like cigars Beneath the stars, Upon the water...

Cigars And Beer.
Here With my beer I sit, While g...

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

An Ode Of Thanks For Certain Cigars.
_TO CHARLES ELIOT NORTON._ Luck, my dear Norton, still...

A Pot, And A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Some praise taking snuff; And 'tis pleasant en...

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

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

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

Smoke Is The Food Of Lovers.
When Cupid open'd shop, the trade he chose Was just th...

Chibouque.
At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan, The pacha in his pala...

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

An Encomium On Tobacco.
Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight, And...

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

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

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

My Pipe.
When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me; When fr...

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

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



THE TRUE LEUCOTHOE.








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.

ANON.





Next: THOSE ASHES.

Previous: A LOSS.



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