A ghost in a haunted house is seldom observed with anything like scientific precision. The spectre in the following narrative could not be photographed, attempts being usually made in a light which required prolonged exposure. Efforts to touc... Read more of The Lady In Black at Scary Stories.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

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

Envoi.
Smokers, who doubt or con or pro, And ye who dare to...

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

In Favor Of Tobacco.
Much victuals serves for gluttony To fatten men like s...

The Last Pipe.
When head is sick and brain doth swim, And heavy hangs...

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

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

A Bachelor's Soliloquy.
I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire, I ne'er kn...

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

The Lost Lotus.
'Tis said that in the sun-embroidered East, There dw...

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

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

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

The Old Clay Pipe.
There's a lot of solid comfort In an old clay pipe, ...

A Song Without A Name.
AIR: "_THE VICAR OF BRAY_." 'Twas in Queen Bess's gold...

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

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



ANOTHER MATCH.








_AFTER A.C. SWINBURNE._


If love were dhudeen olden,
And I were like the weed,
Oh! we would live together
And love the jolly weather,
And bask in sunshine golden,
Rare pals of choicest breed;
If love were dhudeen olden,
And I were like the weed.

If you were oil essential,
And I were nicotine,
We'd hatch up wicked treason,
And spoil each smoker's reason,
Till he grew penitential,
And turned a bilious green;
If you were oil essential,
And I were nicotine.

If you were snuff, my darling,
And I, your love, the box.
We'd live and sneeze together,
Shut out from all the weather,
And anti-snuffers snarling,
In neckties orthodox;
If you were snuff, my darling,
And I, your love, the box.

If you were the aroma,
And I were simply smoke,
We'd skyward fly together,
As light as any feather;
And flying high as Homer,
His gray old ghost we'd choke;
If you were the aroma,
And I were simply smoke.

From _Cope's Tobacco Plant_.





Next: IN WREATHS OF SMOKE.

Previous: ACROSTIC.



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