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Smoking Poems

Smoking Away.
Floating away like the fountains' spray, Or the snow...

My Meerschaums.
Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved, High...

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

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

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

Ode To Tobacco.
Thou, who when fears attack Bidst them avaunt, and Bla...

The Ballad Of The Pipe.
Oh, give me but Virginia's weed, An earthen bowl, a st...

To The Tobacco Pipe.
Dear piece of fascinating clay! 'Tis thine to smooth l...

Ad Nicotina.
"_A CONSTRAINED HYPERBOLE._" Let others sing the prais...

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

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

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

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

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

If I Were King.
If I were king, my pipe should be premier. The skies o...

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

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

Cigarette Rings.
How it blows! How it rains! I'll not turn out to-night; ...

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

He Respondeth.
SHE. You still persist in using, I observe with g...



TO THE TOBACCO PIPE.








Dear piece of fascinating clay!
'Tis thine to smooth life's rugged way,
To give a happiness unknown
To those--who let a pipe alone;
Thy tube can best the vapors chase,
By raising--others in their place;
Can give the face staid Wisdom's air,
And teach the lips--to ope with care;
'Tis hence thou art the truest friend
(Where least is said there's least to mend),
And he who ventures many a joke
Had better oft be still and smoke.

Whatever giddy foplings think,
Thou giv'st the highest zest to drink.
When fragrant clouds thy fumes exhale,
And hover round the nut-brown ale,
Who thinks of claret or champagne?
E'en burgundy were pour'd in vain.

'Tis not in city smoke alone,
Midst fogs and glooms thy charms are known.
With thee, at morn, the rustic swain
Tracks o'er the snow-besprinkled plain,
To seek some neighb'ring copse's side,
And rob the woodlands of their pride:
With thee, companion of his toil,
His active spirits ne'er recoil;
Though hard his daily task assign'd,
He bears it with an equal mind.

The fisher 'board some little bark,
When all around is drear and dark,
With shortened pipe beguiles the hour,
Though bleak the wind and cold the show'r,
Nor thinks the morn's approach too slow,
Regardless of what tempests blow.
Midst hills of sand, midst ditches, dikes,
Midst cannons, muskets, halberts, pikes;
With thee, as still, Mynheer can stay,
As Neddy 'twixt two wisps of hay;
Heedless of Britain and of France,
Smokes on--and looks to the main chance.

And sure the solace thou canst give
Must make thy fame unrivalled live,
So long as men can temper clay
(For as thou art, e'en so are they),
The sun mature the Indian weed,
And rolling years fresh sorrows breed.

From _The Meteors_, London.





Next: THE PATRIOTIC SMOKER'S LAMENT.

Previous: ON A TOBACCO JAR.



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