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Smoking Poems

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

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

Sweet Smoking Pipe.
Sweet smoking pipe; bright glowing stove, Companion ...

My Friendly Pipe.
Let sybarites still dream delights While smoking cig...

To My Cigar.
The warmth of thy glow, Well-lighted cigar, Makes h...

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

Choosing A Wife By A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Tube, I love thee as my life; By thee I mean to choose...

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

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

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

The Patriotic Smoker's Lament.
Tell me, shade of Walter Raleigh, Briton of the true...

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...

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

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

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

Virginia's Kingly Plant.
_BY AN "OLD SALT."_ Oh, muse! grant me the power (I...

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

'twas Off The Blue Canaries.
'Twas off the blue Canary isles, A glorious summer d...

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

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



THE PIPE CRITIC.








Say, pipe, let's talk of love;
Canst aid me? By my life,
I'll ask not gods above
To help me choose a wife;
But to thy gentle self I'll give the puzzling strife.

Thy color let me find,
And blue like smoke her eyes;
A healthy store her mind
As that which in thee lies,--
An evanescent draft, whose incense mounts the skies.

And, pipe, a breath like thine;
Her hair an amber gold,
And wrought in shapes as fine
As that which now I hold;
A grace in every limb, her form thy slender mould.

And when her lips I kiss,
Oh, may she burn like thee,
And strive to give me bliss!
A comforter to be
When friends wax cold, time fades, and all departs from me.

And may she hide in smoke,
As you, my friend, have done,
The failings that would choke
My virtues every one,
Turn grief to laughing jest, or painful thought to fun.

Her aid be such as thine
To stir my brain a bit.
When 'round this hearth of mine
Friends sit and banter wit,
She'll shape a well-turned phrase, a subtle jest to hit.

In short, my sole delight
(Why, pipe, you sputter so!),
Whose angel visage bright
(And at me ashes throw!)
Shall never rival fear. You're jealous now, I know.

Nay, pipe, I'll not leave thee;
For of thy gifts there's one
That's passing dear to me
Whose equal she'd have none,--
The gift of peace serene; she'd have, alas, a tongue!

WALTER LITTLEFIELD.




Next: A SONG WITHOUT A NAME.

Previous: MY CIGARETTE.



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