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Smoking Poems

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

What I Like.
To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream, Upon the ...

Ingin Summer.
Jest about the time when Fall Gits to rattlin' in th...

A Warning.
HE. I loathe all books. I hate to see The world a...

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

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

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

Smoking Away.
Floating away like the fountains' spray, Or the snow...

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

My Meerschaum Pipe.
Old meerschaum pipe, I'll fondly wipe Thy scarred an...

Knickerbocker.
Shade of Herrick, Muse of Locker, Help me sing of Knic...

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

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

My Cigarette.
Ma pauvre petite, My little sweet, Why do you cry...

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

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

To See Her Pipe Awry.
Betty bouncer kept a stall At the corner of a street...

Titlepage Dedication.
"Let those smoke now who never smoked before, And those ...

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

"keats Took Snuff."
"Keats took snuff.... It has been established by the ...



THE SMOKER'S REVERIE.








(_OCTOBER._)


I'm sitting at dusk 'neath the old beechen tree,
With its leaves by the autumn made ripe;
While they cling to the stems like old age unto life,
I dream of the days when I'll rest from this strife,
And in peace smoke my brierwood pipe.

O my brierwood pipe!--of bright fancy the twin,
What a medley of forms you create;
Every puff of white smoke seems a vision as fair
As the poet's bright dream, and like dreams fades in air,
While the dreamer dreams on of his fate.

The fleecy white clouds that now float in the sky,
Form the visions I love most to see;
Fairy shapes that I saw in my boyhood's first dreams
Seem to beckon me on, while beyond them there gleams
A bright future, in waiting for me.

O my brierwood pipe! I ne'er loved thee as now,
As that fair form and face steal above;
See, she beckons me on to where roses are spread,
And she points to my fancy the bright land ahead,
Where the winds whisper nothing but love.

Oh, answer, my pipe, shall my dream be as fair
When it changes to dreams of the past?
When autumn's chill winds make this leaf look as sere
As the leaves on the beech-tree that shelters me here,
Will the tree's _heart_ be chilled by the blast?

While musing, around me has gathered a heap
Of the leaflets, all dying and dead;
And I see in my reverie plainly revealed
The slope of life's hill, in my boyhood concealed
By the forms that fair fancy had bred.

While I sit on the banks of the beautiful stream,
Picking roses that bloom by its side,
I know that the shallop will certainly come,
When the roses are withered, to carry me home,
And that life will go out with the tide.

O my brierwood pipe! may the heart be as light
When memory supplanteth the dream;
When the sun has gone down may the sunbeam remain,
And life's roses, though dead, all their fragrance retain,
Till they catch at Eternity's gleam.

ANON.




Next: A BRIEF PUFF OF SMOKE.

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