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Smoking Poems

If I Were King.
If I were king, my pipe should be premier. The skies o...

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

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

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

My Cigarette.
Ma pauvre petite, My little sweet, Why do you cry...

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

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

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

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the toper regale in his tankard of ale, Or with ...

Pipes And Beer.
Before I was famous I used to sit In a dull old unde...

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

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

My Cigarette.
My cigarette! The amulet That charms afar unrest and...

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

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

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

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

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

The Patriotic Smoker's Lament.
Tell me, shade of Walter Raleigh, Briton of the true...

Sic Transit.
Just a note that I found on my table, By the bills of ...



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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