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Smoking Poems

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

Cigars And Beer.
Here With my beer I sit, While g...

Pipes And Beer.
Before I was famous I used to sit In a dull old unde...

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...

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

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

Ode To Tobacco.
Thou, who when fears attack Bidst them avaunt, and Bla...

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

Latakia.
I. When all the panes are hung with frost, Wild wiz...

Virginia Tobacco.
Two maiden dames of sixty-two Together long had dwel...

A Pot, And A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Some praise taking snuff; And 'tis pleasant en...

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

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

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

A Song Without A Name.
AIR: "_THE VICAR OF BRAY_." 'Twas in Queen Bess's gold...

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

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the toper regale in his tankard of ale, Or with ...

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

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



SONG OF THE SMOKE-WREATHS.








_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._


Not like clouds that cap the mountains,
Not like mists that mask the sea,
Not like vapors round the fountains,--
Soft and clear and warm are we.

Hear the tempest, how its minions
Tear the clouds and heap the snows!
No storm-rage is in our pinions;
Who knows us, 'tis peace he knows.

Soaring from the burning censers,
Stealing forth through all the air,
Hovering as the mild dispensers
Over you of blisses rare,

Softly float we, softly blend we,
Tinted from the deep blue sky,
Scented from the myrrh-lands, bend we
Downward to you ere we die.

Ease we bring, and airy fancies,
Sober thoughts with visions gay,
Peace profound with daring glances
Through the clouds to endless day.

Not like clouds that cap the mountains,
Not like mists that mask the sea,
Not like vapors round the fountains,--
Soft and clear and warm are we.

L.T.A., in _London Society_.




Next: SMOKE AND CHESS.

Previous: THE FARMER'S PIPE.



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