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Smoking Poems

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

In Rotten Row.
In Rotten Row a cigarette I sat and smoked, with no re...

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

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

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

Virginia's Kingly Plant.
_BY AN "OLD SALT."_ Oh, muse! grant me the power (I...

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

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

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...

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

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

Meerschaum.
Come to me, O my meerschaum, For the vile street organ...

The Pipe You Make Yourself.
There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum pipes a...

Tobacco.
Let poets rhyme of what they will, Youth, Beauty, Love...

Smoking Spiritualized.
The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently...

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

Latakia.
I. When all the panes are hung with frost, Wild wiz...

An Old Sweetheart Of Mine.
As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, An...

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

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



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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