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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

Tobacco.
The Indian weed, withered quite, Green at noon, cut do...

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

On A Broken Pipe.
Neglected now it lies, a cold clay form, So late with ...

Pipe And Tobacco.
When my pipe burns bright and clear, The gods I need n...

To My Meerschaum.
There's a charm in the sun-crested hills, In the qui...

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

Virginia Tobacco.
Two maiden dames of sixty-two Together long had dwel...

To The Tobacco Pipe.
Dear piece of fascinating clay! 'Tis thine to smooth l...

Choosing A Wife By A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Tube, I love thee as my life; By thee I mean to choose...

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

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

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

Ingin Summer.
Jest about the time when Fall Gits to rattlin' in th...

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

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

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
'Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,-- Or p'raps a ...

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



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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