BY MRS. ALFRED GATTY (ADAPTED) The Master of the Harvest walked by the side of his cornfields in the springtime. A frown was on his face, for there had been no rain for several weeks, and the earth was hard from the parching of the east wind... Read more of The Master Of The Harvest at Children Stories.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

My Little Brown Pipe.
I have a little comforter, I carry in my pocket: ...

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

To My Cigar.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doc...

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

If I Were King.
If I were king, my pipe should be premier. The skies o...

Virginia's Kingly Plant.
_BY AN "OLD SALT."_ Oh, muse! grant me the power (I...

Wrongfellow.
I like cigars Beneath the stars, Upon the water...

My Cigarette.
My cigarette! The amulet That charms afar unrest and...

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

A Valentine.
What's my love's name? Guess her name. Nina? No....

The Duet.
I was smoking a cigarette; Maud, my wife, and the te...

It May Be Weeds.
It may be weeds I've gathered too; But even weeds...

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

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...

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

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

A Pot, And A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Some praise taking snuff; And 'tis pleasant en...



CIGARS AND BEER.








Here
With my beer
I sit,
While golden moments flit.
Alas!
They pass
Unheeded by;
And, as they fly,
I,
Being dry,
Sit idly sipping here
My beer.

Oh, finer far
Than fame or riches are
The graceful smoke-wreaths of this cigar!
Why
Should I
Weep, wail, or sigh?
What if luck has passed me by?
What if my hopes are dead,
My pleasures fled?
Have I not still
My fill
Of right good cheer,--
Cigars and beer?

Go, whining youth,
Forsooth!
Go, weep and wail,
Sigh and grow pale,
Weave melancholy rhymes
On the old times,
Whose joys like shadowy ghosts appear,--
But leave me to my beer!
Gold is dross,
Love is loss;
So, if I gulp my sorrows down,
Or see them drown
In foamy draughts of old nut-brown,
Then do I wear the crown
Without a cross!

GEORGE ARNOLD.





Next: EFFUSION BY A CIGAR SMOKER.

Previous: TO MY CIGAR.



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