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Smoking Poems

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

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

To The Rev. Mr. Newton.
Says the Pipe to the Snuff-box, "I can't understand ...

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...

Cigars And Beer.
Here With my beer I sit, While g...

Confession Of A Cigar Smoker.
I owe to smoking, more or less, Through life the whole...

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

A Poet's Pipe.
_FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE._ A poet's pipe...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Edifying Reflections Of A Tobacco-smoker.
_SET TO MUSIC BY JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. TRANS...

Cigarette Rings.
How it blows! How it rains! I'll not turn out to-night; ...

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

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

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

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the learned talk of books, The glutton...



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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