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Smoking Poems

Edifying Reflections Of A Tobacco-smoker.
_SET TO MUSIC BY JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. TRANS...

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

Tobacco.
The Indian weed, withered quite, Green at noon, cut do...

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

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, ...

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

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

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

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

Ashes.
Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown, Alone I puff my brie...

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

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

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the learned talk of books, The glutton...

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

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

On A Broken Pipe.
Neglected now it lies, a cold clay form, So late with ...

The Latest Convert.
I've been in love some scores of times, With Amy, Ne...

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

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



CIGARS AND BEER.








Here
With my beer
I sit,
While golden moments flit.
Alas!
They pass
Unheeded by;
And, as they fly,
I,
Being dry,
Sit idly sipping here
My beer.

Oh, finer far
Than fame or riches are
The graceful smoke-wreaths of this cigar!
Why
Should I
Weep, wail, or sigh?
What if luck has passed me by?
What if my hopes are dead,
My pleasures fled?
Have I not still
My fill
Of right good cheer,--
Cigars and beer?

Go, whining youth,
Forsooth!
Go, weep and wail,
Sigh and grow pale,
Weave melancholy rhymes
On the old times,
Whose joys like shadowy ghosts appear,--
But leave me to my beer!
Gold is dross,
Love is loss;
So, if I gulp my sorrows down,
Or see them drown
In foamy draughts of old nut-brown,
Then do I wear the crown
Without a cross!

GEORGE ARNOLD.




Next: EFFUSION BY A CIGAR SMOKER.

Previous: TO MY CIGAR.



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