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Smoking Poems

A Symphony In Smoke.
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet, Who likes to muse and ...

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

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

The Ballad Of The Pipe.
Oh, give me but Virginia's weed, An earthen bowl, a st...

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

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

Pipes And Beer.
Before I was famous I used to sit In a dull old unde...

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

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

"a Free Puff."
Do you remember when first we met? I was turning twent...

Ad Nicotina.
"_A CONSTRAINED HYPERBOLE._" Let others sing the prais...

The Lost Lotus.
'Tis said that in the sun-embroidered East, There dw...

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

Sublime Tobacco.
But here the herald of the self-same mouth Came breath...

The Scent Of A Good Cigar.
What is it comes through the deepening dusk,-- Somethi...

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

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

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

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

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



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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