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Smoking Poems

Titlepage Dedication.
"Let those smoke now who never smoked before, And those ...

Henry Fielding.
Friend of my youth, companion of my later days. Wh...

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

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

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

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...

In Rotten Row.
In Rotten Row a cigarette I sat and smoked, with no re...

Knickerbocker.
Shade of Herrick, Muse of Locker, Help me sing of Knic...

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

A Good Cigar.
Oh, 'tis well and enough, A whiff or a puff From th...

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

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

Epitaph
_ON A YOUNG LADY WHO DESIRED THAT TOBACCO MIGHT BE PLANTED OV...

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

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

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

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

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

Those Ashes.
Up to the frescoed ceiling The smoke of my cigarette...

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...



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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