We reached Barrie safely that night, and slept at the Queen's Arms. Next morning, I had an excellent opportunity of seeing this thriving village. It is very well situated on the shore of Kempenfeldt Bay, on ground rising gradually to a consi... Read more of Barrie And Big Trees A New Capital Of A New District—nature's Canal The Devil's Elbow—macadamization And Mud—richmond Hill at Emigrants.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

Those Ashes.
Up to the frescoed ceiling The smoke of my cigarette...

My Cigarette.
My cigarette! The amulet That charms afar unrest and...

Geordie To His Tobacco-pipe.
Good pipe, old friend, old black and colored friend, W...

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

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

My Cigar.
In spite of my physician, who is, _entre nous_, a fogy, ...

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

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

Confession Of A Cigar Smoker.
I owe to smoking, more or less, Through life the whole...

Epitaph
_ON A YOUNG LADY WHO DESIRED THAT TOBACCO MIGHT BE PLANTED OV...

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

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

Acrostic.
To thee, blest weed, whose sovereign wiles, O'er cankere...

Ad Nicotina.
"_A CONSTRAINED HYPERBOLE._" Let others sing the prais...

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

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

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

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

If I Were King.
If I were king, my pipe should be premier. The skies o...

Ode To Tobacco.
Come then, Tobacco, new-found friend, Come, and thy ...



A BACHELOR'S SOLILOQUY.








I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire,
I ne'er knew the Benedict's yoke;
I worship a fairy-like, fanciful form,
That goes up the chimney in smoke.

I sit in my dressing-gowned slipperful ease,
Without wife or bairns to provoke,
And puff at my pipe, while my hopes and my fears
All go up the chimney in smoke.

I sit with my pipe, and my heart's lonesome care
I try, but all vainly, to choke.
Ah, me! but I find that the flame that Love lights
Won't go up the chimney in smoke.

_Cigar and Tobacco World_, London.





Next: THE DREAMER'S PIPE.

Previous: ODE TO TOBACCO.



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