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Smoking Poems

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

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

A Brief Puff Of Smoke.
Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig, Ne'er deemed the ...

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

Meerschaum.
Come to me, O my meerschaum, For the vile street organ...

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

A Valentine.
What's my love's name? Guess her name. Nina? No....

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

My After-dinner Cloud.
Some sombre evening, when I sit And feed in solitude...

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

My Little Brown Pipe.
I have a little comforter, I carry in my pocket: ...

Wrongfellow.
I like cigars Beneath the stars, Upon the water...

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

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

A Warning.
HE. I loathe all books. I hate to see The world a...

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

Too Great A Sacrifice.
The maid, as by the papers doth appear, Whom fifty tho...

He Respondeth.
SHE. You still persist in using, I observe with g...

To My Cigar.
The warmth of thy glow, Well-lighted cigar, Makes h...

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



TO C.F. BRADFORD.








_ON THE GIFT OF A MEERSCHAUM PIPE._


The pipe came safe, and welcome, too,
As anything must be from you;
A meerschaum pure, 'twould float as light
As she the girls called Amphitrite.
Mixture divine of foam and clay,
From both it stole the best away:
Its foam is such as crowns the glow
Of beakers brimmed by Veuve Clicquot;
Its clay is but congested lymph
Jove chose to make some choicer nymph;
And here combined,--why, this must be
The birth of some enchanted sea,
Shaped to immortal form, the type
And very Venus of a pipe.

When high I heap it with the weed
From Lethe wharf, whose potent seed
Nicotia, big from Bacchus, bore
And cast upon Virginia's shore,
I'll think,--So fill the fairer bowl
And wise alembic of thy soul,
With herbs far-sought that shall distil,
Not fumes to slacken thought and will,
But bracing essences that nerve
To wait, to dare, to strive, to serve.

When curls the smoke in eddies soft,
And hangs a shifting dream aloft,
That gives and takes, though chance-designed,
The impress of the dreamer's mind,
I'll think,--So let the vapors bred
By passion, in the heart or head,
Pass off and upward into space,
Waving farewells of tenderest grace,
Remembered in some happier time,
To blend their beauty with my rhyme.

While slowly o'er its candid bowl
The color deepens (as the soul
That burns in mortals leaves its trace
Of bale or beauty on the face),
I'll think,--So let the essence rare
Of years consuming make me fair;
So, 'gainst the ills of life profuse,
Steep me in some narcotic juice;
And if my soul must part with all
That whiteness which we greenness call,
Smooth back, O Fortune, half thy frown,
And make me beautifully brown!

Dream-forger, I refill thy cup
With reverie's wasteful pittance up,
And while the fire burns slow away,
Hiding itself in ashes gray,
I'll think,--As inward Youth retreats,
Compelled to spare his wasting heats,
When Life's Ash-Wednesday comes about,
And my head's gray with fires burnt out,
While stays one spark to light the eye,
With the last flash of memory,
'Twill leap to welcome C.F.B.,
Who sent my favorite pipe to me.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.





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Previous: MY CIGAR.



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