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Smoking Poems

Smoke And Chess.
We were sitting at chess as the sun went down; And he,...

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

A Valentine.
What's my love's name? Guess her name. Nina? No....

Too Great A Sacrifice.
The maid, as by the papers doth appear, Whom fifty tho...

A Brief Puff Of Smoke.
Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig, Ne'er deemed the ...

Old Pipe Of Mine.
Companion of my lonely hours, Full many a time 'twix...

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

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

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

Another Match.
_AFTER A.C. SWINBURNE._ If love were dhudeen olden, ...

The Latest Convert.
I've been in love some scores of times, With Amy, Ne...

The Old Clay Pipe.
There's a lot of solid comfort In an old clay pipe, ...

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

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
'Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,-- Or p'raps a ...

To An Old Pipe.
Once your smoothly polished face Nestled lightly in a ...

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

Her Brother's Cigarette.
Like raven's wings her locks of jet, Her soft eyes tou...

Geordie To His Tobacco-pipe.
Good pipe, old friend, old black and colored friend, W...

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

If I Were King.
If I were king, my pipe should be premier. The skies o...



THOSE ASHES.








Up to the frescoed ceiling
The smoke of my cigarette
In a sinuous spray is reeling,
Forming flower and minaret.

What delicious landscape floating
On perfumed wings I see;
Pale swans I am idly noting,
And queens robed in filagree.

I see such delicious faces
As ne'er man saw before,
And my fancy fondly chases
Sweet maids on a fairy shore.

Now to bits my air-castle crashes,
And those pictures I see no more;
My grandmother yells: "Them ashes--
Don't drop them on the floor!"

R.K. MUNKITTRICK.





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Previous: THE TRUE LEUCOTHOE.



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