you will neeed: pictures or drawing of fairy a one white or pink candle After prepairing,do this while you are standing and arms sideward then chant creatures i want to be a beautiful fairy wings are colorful oh my will so mote i... Read more of Spell to become Fairy at White Magic.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

An Ode Of Thanks For Certain Cigars.
_TO CHARLES ELIOT NORTON._ Luck, my dear Norton, still...

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

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

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

"a Free Puff."
Do you remember when first we met? I was turning twent...

Effusion By A Cigar Smoker.
Warriors! who from the cannon's mouth blow fire, ...

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

Maecenas Bids His Friend To Dine.
I beg you come to-night and dine. A welcome waits you, a...

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

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

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

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

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

Tobacco.
The Indian weed, withered quite, Green at noon, cut do...

What I Like.
To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream, Upon the ...

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

A Bachelor's Views.
A pipe, a book, A cosy nook, A fire,--at least ...

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

The Patriotic Smoker's Lament.
Tell me, shade of Walter Raleigh, Briton of the true...

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



CANNON SONG.








And it has turned since you and I
Set out to face the world alone;
And, in a garret near the sky,
Had scarce a crust to call our own,
But many a banquet, Barmecide;
And many a dream of hope divine,
Lie buried in the moaning tide,
That drowns the past, old pipe of mine!

But prosing isn't quite the thing,
And so, I guess, I'll give it up:
Just wait a moment while I sing;
We'll have another parting cup,
And then to bed. The stars are low;
Yon sickly moon has ceased to shine;
So here she goes, and off we go
To Slumberland, old pipe of mine!

JOHN J. GORMLEY.





Next: CANNON SONG.

Previous: OLD PIPE OF MINE.



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