These truly are the Brave, These men who cast aside Old memories, to walk the blood-stained pave Of Sacrifice, joining the solemn tide That moves away, to suffer and to die For Freedom--when their own is yet denied! O Pride! O Prejudice! Whe... Read more of The Negro Soldiers at Martin Luther King.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

A Warning.
HE. I loathe all books. I hate to see The world a...

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

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

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

My Meerschaums.
Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved, High...

Cigars And Beer.
Here With my beer I sit, While g...

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
_A SAILOR'S VERSION_. They were three jolly sailors bo...

My After-dinner Cloud.
Some sombre evening, when I sit And feed in solitude...

Henry Fielding.
Friend of my youth, companion of my later days. Wh...

My Cigar.
In spite of my physician, who is, _entre nous_, a fogy, ...

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

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

Edifying Reflections Of A Tobacco-smoker.
_SET TO MUSIC BY JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. TRANS...

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

Too Great A Sacrifice.
The maid, as by the papers doth appear, Whom fifty tho...

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

On A Broken Pipe.
Neglected now it lies, a cold clay form, So late with ...

To The Tobacco Pipe.
Dear piece of fascinating clay! 'Tis thine to smooth l...

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

Confession Of A Cigar Smoker.
I owe to smoking, more or less, Through life the whole...



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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