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Smoking Poems

Acrostic.
To thee, blest weed, whose sovereign wiles, O'er cankere...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smoking Song.
With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl, As mist ...

A Song Without A Name.
AIR: "_THE VICAR OF BRAY_." 'Twas in Queen Bess's gold...

Inscription For A Tobacco Jar.
Keep me at hand; and as my fumes arise, You'll find _a...

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

Pernicious Weed!
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, Makes half a s...

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

The Smoke Traveller.
When I puff my cigarette, Straight I see a Spanish g...

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

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

The Cigar.
Some sigh for this and that, My wishes don't go far;...

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



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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