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Smoking Poems

To See Her Pipe Awry.
Betty bouncer kept a stall At the corner of a street...

The Betrothed.
"_YOU MUST CHOOSE BETWEEN ME AND YOUR CIGAR._" Open the ...

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

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

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

On Receipt Of A Rare Pipe.
I lifted off the lid with anxious care, Removed the ...

Pernicious Weed!
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, Makes half a s...

In Favor Of Tobacco.
Much victuals serves for gluttony To fatten men like s...

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

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

What I Like.
To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream, Upon the ...

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

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

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

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

Clouds.
Mortals say their heart is light When the clouds aroun...

An Encomium On Tobacco.
Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight, And...

Ashes.
Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown, Alone I puff my brie...

Inscription For A Tobacco Jar.
Keep me at hand; and as my fumes arise, You'll find _a...

Geordie To His Tobacco-pipe.
Good pipe, old friend, old black and colored friend, W...



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.





Next: MY PIPE.

Previous: MY CIGAR.



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