The face is flushed, the breath has the odor of liquor, the pulse is full and bounding with deep respiration. Reason, memory, judgment and will are first stimulated and then blunted. The drinker's peculiarities are exaggerated, the person becoming ... Read more of ALCOHOLISM. Acute Symptoms at Home Medicine.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

Tobacco Is An Indian Weed.
Tobacco's but an Indian weed, Grows green at morn, cut...

The Pipe Critic.
Say, pipe, let's talk of love; Canst aid me?...

Her Brother's Cigarette.
Like raven's wings her locks of jet, Her soft eyes tou...

My Meerschaum Pipe.
Old meerschaum pipe, I'll fondly wipe Thy scarred an...

Ode To Tobacco.
Come then, Tobacco, new-found friend, Come, and thy ...

With Pipe And Book.
With Pipe and Book at close of day, Oh, what is sweete...

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

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

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

Invocation To Tobacco.
Weed of the strange flower, weed of the earth, Killer ...

The Betrothed.
"_YOU MUST CHOOSE BETWEEN ME AND YOUR CIGAR._" Open the ...

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

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

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

Ingin Summer.
Jest about the time when Fall Gits to rattlin' in th...

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

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

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

Motto For A Tobacco Jar.
Come! don't refuse sweet Nicotina's aid, But woo the...

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



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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