A verb is a word which implies action or the doing of something, or it may be defined as a word which affirms, commands or asks a question. Thus, the words John the table, contain no assertion, but when the word strikes is introduced, somethi... Read more of THE VERB at Speaking Writing.comInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

Sic Transit.
Just a note that I found on my table, By the bills of ...

An Old Sweetheart Of Mine.
As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, An...

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

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

A Loss.
How hard a thing it is to part From those we love an...

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

An Encomium On Tobacco.
Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight, And...

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

A Poet's Pipe.
_FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE._ A poet's pipe...

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

Ode To Tobacco.
Thou, who when fears attack Bidst them avaunt, and Bla...

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the learned talk of books, The glutton...

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

To C.f. Bradford.
_ON THE GIFT OF A MEERSCHAUM PIPE._ The pipe came safe...

Cannon Song.
Come, seniors, come, and fill your pipes, Your richest...

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

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

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

On A Tobacco Jar.
Three hundred years ago or soe, One worthy knight an...

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



ASHES.








Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown,
Alone I puff my brier brown,
And watch the ashes settle down
In lambent flashes;
While thro' the blue, thick, curling haze,
I strive with feeble eyes to gaze,
Upon the half-forgotten days
That left but ashes.

Again we wander through the lane,
Beneath the elms and out again,
Across the rippling fields of grain,
Where softly flashes
A slender brook 'mid banks of fern,
At every sigh my pulses burn,
At every thought I slowly turn
And find but ashes.

What made my fingers tremble so,
As you wrapped skeins of worsted snow,
Around them, now with movements slow
And now with dashes?
Maybe 'tis smoke that blinds my eyes,
Maybe a tear within them lies;
But as I puff my pipe there flies
A cloud of ashes.

Perhaps you did not understand,
How lightly flames of love were fanned.
Ah, every thought and wish I've planned
With something clashes!
And yet within my lonely den
Over a pipe, away from men,
I love to throw aside my pen
And stir the ashes.

DE WITT STERRY.





Next: CHOOSING A WIFE BY A PIPE OF TOBACCO.

Previous: IN WREATHS OF SMOKE.



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