In the course of many years' investigation of haunted houses, I have naturally come in contact with numerous people who have had first-hand experiences with the Occult. Nurse Mackenzie is one of these people. I met her for the first time last... Read more of The Ghost Of The Hindoo Child Or The Hauntings Of The White Dove Hotel Near St Swithin's Street Aberdeen at Scary Stories.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

The Latest Convert.
I've been in love some scores of times, With Amy, Ne...

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

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

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

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

Seasonable Sweets.
"_DON'T BE FLOWERY, JACOB._"--CHARLES DICKENS. When th...

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

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

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

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

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

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

She.
The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint! Around my pretty...

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

Ode To My Pipe.
O Blessed pipe, That now I clutch within my gripe, ...

The True Leucothoe.
Let others praise the god of wine, Or Venus, love, a...

Edifying Reflections Of A Tobacco-smoker.
_SET TO MUSIC BY JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. TRANS...

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

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

Cannon Song.
And it has turned since you and I Set out to face th...



A POET'S PIPE.








_FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE._


A poet's pipe am I,
And my Abyssinian tint
Is an unmistakable hint
That he lays me not often by.
When his soul is with grief o'erworn
I smoke like the cottage where
They are cooking the evening fare
For the laborer's return.

I enfold and cradle his soul
In the vapors moving and blue
That mount from my fiery mouth;
And there is power in my bowl
To charm his spirit and soothe,
And heal his weariness too.

RICHARD HERNE SHEPHERD.





Next: MY CIGAR.

Previous: WITH PIPE AND BOOK.



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