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Smoking Poems

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

Virginia Tobacco.
Two maiden dames of sixty-two Together long had dwel...

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

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

Ode To My Pipe.
O Blessed pipe, That now I clutch within my gripe, ...

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

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

On A Tobacco Jar.
Three hundred years ago or soe, One worthy knight an...

Tobacco Is An Indian Weed.
Tobacco's but an Indian weed, Grows green at morn, cut...

The Smoke Traveller.
When I puff my cigarette, Straight I see a Spanish g...

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

Ode To Tobacco.
Thou, who when fears attack Bidst them avaunt, and Bla...

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

Sweet Smoking Pipe.
Sweet smoking pipe; bright glowing stove, Companion ...

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

A Farewell To Tobacco.
May the Babylonish curse Straight confound my stammeri...

In The Ol' Tobacker Patch.
I jess kind o' feel so lonesome that I don't know what to...

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the toper regale in his tankard of ale, Or with ...

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

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



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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