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Smoking Poems

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

A Good Cigar.
Oh, 'tis well and enough, A whiff or a puff From th...

A Poet's Pipe.
_FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE._ A poet's pipe...

Confession Of A Cigar Smoker.
I owe to smoking, more or less, Through life the whole...

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
'Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,-- Or p'raps a ...

Maecenas Bids His Friend To Dine.
I beg you come to-night and dine. A welcome waits you, a...

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

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

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

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

The Scent Of A Good Cigar.
What is it comes through the deepening dusk,-- Somethi...

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

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

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

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...

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

Sic Transit.
Just a note that I found on my table, By the bills of ...

The Pipe You Make Yourself.
There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum pipes a...

To C.f. Bradford.
_ON THE GIFT OF A MEERSCHAUM PIPE._ The pipe came safe...

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



"KEATS TOOK SNUFF."








"Keats took snuff.... It has been established by the
praise-worthy editorial research of Mr. Burton Forman."


So "Keats took snuff?" A few more years,
When we are dead and famous--eh?
Will they record our pipes and beers,
And if we smoked cigars or clay?
Or will the world cry "Quantum suff"
To tattle such as "Keats took snuff"?

Perhaps some chronicler would wish
To know what whiskey we preferred,
And if we ever dined on fish,
Or only took the joint and bird.
Such facts are quite as worthy stuff,
Good chronicler, as "Keats took snuff."

You answer: "But, if you were Keats--"
Tut! never mind your buts and ifs,
Of little men record their meats,
Their drinks, their troubles, and their tiffs,
Of the great dead there's gold enough
To spare us such as "Keats took snuff."

Well, go your ways, you little folk,
Who polish up the great folk's lives;
Record the follies that they spoke,
And paint their squabbles with their wives.
Somewhere, if ever ghosts be gruff,
I trust some Keats will "give you snuff."

_The Globe_, London.





Next: THE BALLAD OF THE PIPE.

Previous: THE DISCOVERY OF TOBACCO.



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