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Smoking Poems

'twas Off The Blue Canaries.
'Twas off the blue Canary isles, A glorious summer d...

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

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

A Valentine.
What's my love's name? Guess her name. Nina? No....

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

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

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

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

My Meerschaums.
Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved, High...

The Duet.
I was smoking a cigarette; Maud, my wife, and the te...

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

Her Brother's Cigarette.
Like raven's wings her locks of jet, Her soft eyes tou...

A Symphony In Smoke.
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet, Who likes to muse and ...

A Bachelor's Soliloquy.
I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire, I ne'er kn...

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

Ode To Tobacco.
Come then, Tobacco, new-found friend, Come, and thy ...

The True Leucothoe.
Let others praise the god of wine, Or Venus, love, a...

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

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

Ad Nicotina.
"_A CONSTRAINED HYPERBOLE._" Let others sing the prais...



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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