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Smoking Poems

Henry Fielding.
Friend of my youth, companion of my later days. Wh...

It May Be Weeds.
It may be weeds I've gathered too; But even weeds...

An Encomium On Tobacco.
Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight, And...

Envoi.
Smokers, who doubt or con or pro, And ye who dare to...

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

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

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...

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

"keats Took Snuff."
"Keats took snuff.... It has been established by the ...

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

To An Old Pipe.
Once your smoothly polished face Nestled lightly in a ...

In Wreaths Of Smoke.
In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise, Faces of o...

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

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

Invocation To Tobacco.
Weed of the strange flower, weed of the earth, Killer ...

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

The Smoker's Reverie.
(_OCTOBER._) I'm sitting at dusk 'neath the old beeche...

On A Broken Pipe.
Neglected now it lies, a cold clay form, So late with ...

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



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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