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Smoking Poems

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

The Happy Smoking-ground.
When that last pipe is smoked at last And pouch and ...

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

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

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

A Farewell To Tobacco.
May the Babylonish curse Straight confound my stammeri...

The Scent Of A Good Cigar.
What is it comes through the deepening dusk,-- Somethi...

A Good Cigar.
Oh, 'tis well and enough, A whiff or a puff From th...

To C.f. Bradford.
_ON THE GIFT OF A MEERSCHAUM PIPE._ The pipe came safe...

To My Cigar.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doc...

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

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

The Smoker's Calendar.
When January's cold appears, A glowing pipe my spirit ...

To See Her Pipe Awry.
Betty bouncer kept a stall At the corner of a street...

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

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

Knickerbocker.
Shade of Herrick, Muse of Locker, Help me sing of Knic...

My Friendly Pipe.
Let sybarites still dream delights While smoking cig...

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

Pipe And Tobacco.
When my pipe burns bright and clear, The gods I need n...



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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