Some people grow old gracefully, while others fight and scratch the whole way. Andy's wife, refusing to give in to the looks of growing old, goes out and buys a new line of expensive cosmetics guaranteed to make her look years younger. After ... Read more of How old am I? at Free Jokes.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

The Ballad Of The Pipe.
Oh, give me but Virginia's weed, An earthen bowl, a st...

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

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

The Ballade Of Tobacco.
When verdant youth sees life afar, And first sets ou...

Smoke Is The Food Of Lovers.
When Cupid open'd shop, the trade he chose Was just th...

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

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

Pipe And Tobacco.
When my pipe burns bright and clear, The gods I need n...

How It Once Was.
Right stout and strong the worthy burghers stood, ...

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...

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

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...

Pipes And Beer.
Before I was famous I used to sit In a dull old unde...

Tobacco.
Let poets rhyme of what they will, Youth, Beauty, Love...

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

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...

In Rotten Row.
In Rotten Row a cigarette I sat and smoked, with no re...

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



A WINTER EVENING HYMN TO MY FIRE.








Nicotia, dearer to the Muse
Than all the grape's bewildering juice,
We worship, unforbid of thee;
And as her incense floats and curls
In airy spires and wayward whirls,
Or poises on its tremulous stalk
A flower of frailest reverie,
So winds and loiters, idly free,
The current of unguided talk,
Now laughter-rippled, and now caught
In smooth dark pools of deeper thought
Meanwhile thou mellowest every word,
A sweetly unobtrusive third;
For thou hast magic beyond wine
To unlock natures each to each;
The unspoken thought thou canst divine;
Thou fill'st the pauses of the speech
With whispers that to dreamland reach,
And frozen fancy-springs unchain
In Arctic outskirts of the brain.
Sun of all inmost confidences,
To thy rays doth the heart unclose
Its formal calyx of pretences,
That close against rude day's offences,
And open its shy midnight rose!

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.





Next: MY PIPE AND I.

Previous: A FAREWELL TO TOBACCO.



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