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Smoking Poems

Smoke And Chess.
We were sitting at chess as the sun went down; And he,...

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

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

The Dreamer's Pipe.
Meerschaum, thing with amber tip, Clutched between the...

A Farewell To Tobacco.
May the Babylonish curse Straight confound my stammeri...

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

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

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

Seasonable Sweets.
"_DON'T BE FLOWERY, JACOB._"--CHARLES DICKENS. When th...

Old Pipe Of Mine.
Companion of my lonely hours, Full many a time 'twix...

The Last Pipe.
When head is sick and brain doth swim, And heavy hangs...

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Smoker's Reverie.
(_OCTOBER._) I'm sitting at dusk 'neath the old beeche...

Motto For A Tobacco Jar.
Come! don't refuse sweet Nicotina's aid, But woo the...

The Happy Smoking-ground.
When that last pipe is smoked at last And pouch and ...



TO MY CIGAR.








Yes, social friend, I love thee well,
In learned doctor's spite;
Thy clouds all other clouds dispel,
And lap me in delight.

What though they tell, with phizzes long,
My years are sooner past!
I would reply with reason strong,
They're sweeter while they last.

When in the lonely evening hour,
Attended but by thee,
O'er history's varied page I pore,
Man's fate in thine I see.

Oft as the snowy column grows,
Then breaks and falls away,
I trace how mighty realms thus rose,
Thus tumbled to decay.

Awhile like thee earth's masters burn
And smoke and fume around;
And then, like thee, to ashes turn,
And mingle with the ground.

Life's but a leaf adroitly rolled,
And Time's the wasting breath
That, late or early, we behold
Gives all to dusty death.

From beggar's frieze to monarch's robe,
One common doom is passed;
Sweet Nature's works, the swelling globe,
Must all burn out at last.

And what is he who smokes thee now?
A little moving heap,
That soon, like thee, to fate must bow,
With thee in dust must sleep.

But though thy ashes downward go,
Thy essence rolls on high;
Thus, when my body lieth low,
My soul shall cleave the sky.

CHARLES SPRAGUE.





Next: KNICKERBOCKER.

Previous: THE SCENT OF A GOOD CIGAR.



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