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Smoking Poems

Sublime Tobacco.
But here the herald of the self-same mouth Came breath...

Another Match.
_AFTER A.C. SWINBURNE._ If love were dhudeen olden, ...

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

The Duet.
I was smoking a cigarette; Maud, my wife, and the te...

Tobacco Is An Indian Weed.
Tobacco's but an Indian weed, Grows green at morn, cut...

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

Ode To My Pipe.
O Blessed pipe, That now I clutch within my gripe, ...

An Old Sweetheart Of Mine.
As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, An...

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

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

Chibouque.
At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan, The pacha in his pala...

A Brief Puff Of Smoke.
Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig, Ne'er deemed the ...

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

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

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

What I Like.
To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream, Upon the ...

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

The Old Clay Pipe.
There's a lot of solid comfort In an old clay pipe, ...

Smoke And Chess.
We were sitting at chess as the sun went down; And he,...

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



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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