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Smoking Poems

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

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

Pipe And Tobacco.
When my pipe burns bright and clear, The gods I need n...

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

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

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

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

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

The Patriotic Smoker's Lament.
Tell me, shade of Walter Raleigh, Briton of the true...

In Wreaths Of Smoke.
In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise, Faces of o...

Smoking Away.
Floating away like the fountains' spray, Or the snow...

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

My Cigar.
In spite of my physician, who is, _entre nous_, a fogy, ...

Choosing A Wife By A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Tube, I love thee as my life; By thee I mean to choose...

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

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

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

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

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

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



TO A PIPE OF TOBACCO.








Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest,
Belov'd and honored by the wise,
Come filled with honest "Weekly's best,"
And kindled from the lofty skies.

While round me clouds of incense roll,
With guiltless joys you charm the sense,
And nobler pleasure to the soul
In hints of moral truth dispense.

Soon as you feel th' enliv'ning ray,
To dust you hasten to return,
And teach me that my earliest day
Began to give me to the urn.

But though thy grosser substance sink
To dust, thy purer part aspires;
This when I see, I joy to think
That earth but half of me requires.

Like thee, myself am born to die,
Made half to rise, and half to fall.
Oh, could I, while my moments fly,
The bliss you give me give to all!

_Gentleman's Magazine_, July, 1745.




In the smoke of my dear cigarito
Cloud castles rise gorgeous and tall;
And Eros, divine muchachito,
With smiles hovers over it all.

But dreaming, forgetting to cherish
The fire at my lips as it dies,
The dream and the rapture must perish,
And Eros descend from the skies.

O wicked and false muchachito,
Your rapture I yet may recall;
But, like my re-lit cigarito,
A bitterness tinges it all.

CAMILLA K. VON K.





Next: A GOOD CIGAR.

Previous: TOO GREAT A SACRIFICE.



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