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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Invocation To Tobacco.
Weed of the strange flower, weed of the earth, Killer ...

Cigarette Rings.
How it blows! How it rains! I'll not turn out to-night; ...

She.
The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint! Around my pretty...

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

My Cigarette.
_WORDS AND MUSIC BY RICHARD BARNARD_. To my sweet ciga...

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

Effusion By A Cigar Smoker.
Warriors! who from the cannon's mouth blow fire, ...

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

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

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

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

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

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



TO AN OLD PIPE.








Once your smoothly polished face
Nestled lightly in a case;
'Twas a jolly cosy place,
I surmise;

And a zealous subject blew
On your cheeks, until they grew
To the fascinating hue
Of her eyes.

Near a rusty-hilted sword,
Now upon my mantel-board,
Where my curios are stored,
You recline.

You were pleasant company when
By the scribbling of her pen
I was sent the ways of men
To repine.

Tell me truly (you were there
When she ceased that debonair
Correspondence and affair)
I suppose

That she laughed and smiled all day;
Or did gentle tear-drops stray
Down her charming _retroussee_
Little nose?

Where the sunbeams, coyly still,
Fall upon the mantel-sill,
You perpetually will
Silence woo;

And I fear that she herself,
By the little chubby elf.
Will be laid upon the shelf
Just as you.

DE WITT STERRY.





Next: TITLEPAGE DEDICATION.

Previous: THE PATRIOTIC SMOKER'S LAMENT.



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