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Smoking Poems

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

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
_A SAILOR'S VERSION_. They were three jolly sailors bo...

Envoi.
Smokers, who doubt or con or pro, And ye who dare to...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wrongfellow.
I like cigars Beneath the stars, Upon the water...

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

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

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

In The Ol' Tobacker Patch.
I jess kind o' feel so lonesome that I don't know what to...

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

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

The Dreamer's Pipe.
Meerschaum, thing with amber tip, Clutched between the...

To An Old Pipe.
Once your smoothly polished face Nestled lightly in a ...

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

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



"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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