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Smoking Poems

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

Two Other Hearts.
Full tender beamed the light of love down from his manl...

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

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

My Little Brown Pipe.
I have a little comforter, I carry in my pocket: ...

Cigarette Rings.
How it blows! How it rains! I'll not turn out to-night; ...

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

To My Meerschaum.
There's a charm in the sun-crested hills, In the qui...

Meerschaum.
Come to me, O my meerschaum, For the vile street organ...

To The Rev. Mr. Newton.
Says the Pipe to the Snuff-box, "I can't understand ...

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

The Happy Smoking-ground.
When that last pipe is smoked at last And pouch and ...

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

Smoking Spiritualized.
The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently...

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

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

The Cigar.
Some sigh for this and that, My wishes don't go far;...

Chibouque.
At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan, The pacha in his pala...

My Pipe.
When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me; When fr...

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



TO AN OLD PIPE.








Once your smoothly polished face
Nestled lightly in a case;
'Twas a jolly cosy place,
I surmise;

And a zealous subject blew
On your cheeks, until they grew
To the fascinating hue
Of her eyes.

Near a rusty-hilted sword,
Now upon my mantel-board,
Where my curios are stored,
You recline.

You were pleasant company when
By the scribbling of her pen
I was sent the ways of men
To repine.

Tell me truly (you were there
When she ceased that debonair
Correspondence and affair)
I suppose

That she laughed and smiled all day;
Or did gentle tear-drops stray
Down her charming _retroussee_
Little nose?

Where the sunbeams, coyly still,
Fall upon the mantel-sill,
You perpetually will
Silence woo;

And I fear that she herself,
By the little chubby elf.
Will be laid upon the shelf
Just as you.

DE WITT STERRY.




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Previous: THE PATRIOTIC SMOKER'S LAMENT.



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