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Smoking Poems

A Symphony In Smoke.
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet, Who likes to muse and ...

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

My Cigar.
In spite of my physician, who is, _entre nous_, a fogy, ...

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

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

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

Cannon Song.
Come, seniors, come, and fill your pipes, Your richest...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tobacco.
Let poets rhyme of what they will, Youth, Beauty, Love...

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

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

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

Smoking Song.
With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl, As mist ...



"A FREE PUFF."








Do you remember when first we met?
I was turning twenty--well! I don't forget
How I walked along,
Humming a song
Across the fields and down the lane
By the country road, and back again
To the dear old farm--three miles or more--
And brought you home from the village store.

Summer was passing--don't you recall
The splendid harvest we had that Fall,
And how when the Autumn died,--sober and brown,--
We trudged down the turnpike, and on to the town?

Sweet black brierwood pipe of mine!
If you were human you'd be half divine,
For when I've looked beyond the smoke, into your burning bowl
In times of need
You've been, indeed,
The only comfort, sweetest solace, of my overflowing soul.
We've been together nearly thirty years, old fellow!
And now, you must admit, we're both a trifle mellow.
We have had our share of joys and a deal of sorrows,
And while we're only waiting for a few more to-morrows,
Others will come, and others will go,
And Time will gather what Youth will sow;
But we together will go down the rough
Road to the end, and to the end--puff.

ARTHUR IRVING GRAY.





Next: MY MEERSCHAUM PIPE.

Previous: WRONGFELLOW.



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