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Smoking Poems

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

My Meerschaum Pipe.
Old meerschaum pipe, I'll fondly wipe Thy scarred an...

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

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

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

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

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

The Pipe You Make Yourself.
There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum pipes a...

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

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

Cannon Song.
And it has turned since you and I Set out to face th...

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

To My Cigar.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doc...

A Bachelor's Views.
A pipe, a book, A cosy nook, A fire,--at least ...

How It Once Was.
Right stout and strong the worthy burghers stood, ...

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

The Smoker's Calendar.
When January's cold appears, A glowing pipe my spirit ...

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

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

The True Leucothoe.
Let others praise the god of wine, Or Venus, love, a...



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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