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Smoking Poems

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

Effusion By A Cigar Smoker.
Warriors! who from the cannon's mouth blow fire, ...

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

Two Other Hearts.
Full tender beamed the light of love down from his manl...

The Farmer's Pipe.
Make a picture, dreamy smoke, In my still and cosey ...

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

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

The Ballade Of Tobacco.
When verdant youth sees life afar, And first sets ou...

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

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

Cannon Song.
Come, seniors, come, and fill your pipes, Your richest...

The Scent Of A Good Cigar.
What is it comes through the deepening dusk,-- Somethi...

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

My Three Loves.
When Life was all a summer day, And I was under twenty...

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

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

She.
The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint! Around my pretty...

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

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

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



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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