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Smoking Poems

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

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

A Warning.
HE. I loathe all books. I hate to see The world a...

A Winter Evening Hymn To My Fire.
Nicotia, dearer to the Muse Than all the grape's bewil...

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

My After-dinner Cloud.
Some sombre evening, when I sit And feed in solitude...

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

My Three Loves.
When Life was all a summer day, And I was under twenty...

The Betrothed.
"_YOU MUST CHOOSE BETWEEN ME AND YOUR CIGAR._" Open the ...

My Pipe.
When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me; When fr...

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...

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

Motto For A Tobacco Jar.
Come! don't refuse sweet Nicotina's aid, But woo the...

My Cigarette.
Ma pauvre petite, My little sweet, Why do you cry...

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

"a Free Puff."
Do you remember when first we met? I was turning twent...

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

My Little Brown Pipe.
I have a little comforter, I carry in my pocket: ...

A Loss.
How hard a thing it is to part From those we love an...

Smoke Is The Food Of Lovers.
When Cupid open'd shop, the trade he chose Was just th...



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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