There was once a little girl who was very, very poor. Her father and mother had died, and at last she had no little room to stay in, and no little bed to sleep in, and nothing more to eat except one piece of bread. So she said a prayer, put on ... Read more of THE STAR DOLLARS at Children Stories.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

She.
The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint! Around my pretty...

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

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

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

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

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

The Dreamer's Pipe.
Meerschaum, thing with amber tip, Clutched between the...

A Brief Puff Of Smoke.
Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig, Ne'er deemed the ...

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

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

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

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

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

Those Ashes.
Up to the frescoed ceiling The smoke of my cigarette...

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

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

How It Once Was.
Right stout and strong the worthy burghers stood, ...



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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