62. The wainscoting or dado should be the same as the top border or frieze, but of a darker tone. The intermixture of white or black is always permissible; thus a paper as a side-wall might have as its frieze the complementary coloring with mo... Read more of Wall Proportions at Pigment.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

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...

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
'Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,-- Or p'raps a ...

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

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

The Lost Lotus.
'Tis said that in the sun-embroidered East, There dw...

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

A Winter Evening Hymn To My Fire.
Nicotia, dearer to the Muse Than all the grape's bewil...

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

'twas Off The Blue Canaries.
'Twas off the blue Canary isles, A glorious summer d...

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

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

Latakia.
I. When all the panes are hung with frost, Wild wiz...

Pernicious Weed!
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, Makes half a s...

"keats Took Snuff."
"Keats took snuff.... It has been established by the ...

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

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

Sublime Tobacco.
But here the herald of the self-same mouth Came breath...

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

Knickerbocker.
Shade of Herrick, Muse of Locker, Help me sing of Knic...



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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