1340. If the right cheek burns, some one is speaking well of you; if the left, they are speaking ill of you; if both, they speak well and ill at once. Moisten the finger in the mouth and touch it to the cheek, naming those whom you suspect; the... Read more of Bodily Affections at Superstitions.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

The Cigar.
Some sigh for this and that, My wishes don't go far;...

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

Choosing A Wife By A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Tube, I love thee as my life; By thee I mean to choose...

My Cigarette.
Ma pauvre petite, My little sweet, Why do you cry...

An Encomium On Tobacco.
Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight, And...

Smoke Is The Food Of Lovers.
When Cupid open'd shop, the trade he chose Was just th...

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...

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

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

The Pipe You Make Yourself.
There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum pipes a...

The Smoker's Reverie.
(_OCTOBER._) I'm sitting at dusk 'neath the old beeche...

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

Cigarette Rings.
How it blows! How it rains! I'll not turn out to-night; ...

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

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

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

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



As oft I fill my faithful pipe,
To while away the moments glad,
With fragrant leaves, so rich and ripe,
My mind perceives an image sad,
So that I can but clearly see
How very like it is to me.

My pipe is made of earth and clay,
From which my mortal part is wrought;
I, too, must turn to earth some day.
It often falls, as quick as thought,
And breaks in two,--puts out its flame;
My fate, alas! is but the same!

My pipe I color not, nor paint;
White it remains, and hence 'tis true
That, when in Death's cold arms I faint,
My lips shall wear the ashen hue;
And as it blackens day by day,
So black the grave shall turn my clay!

And when the pipe is put alight
The smoke ascends, then trembles, wanes,
And soon dissolves in sunshine bright,
And but the whitened ash remains.
'Tis so man's glory crumble must,
E'en as his body, into dust!

How oft the filler is mislaid;
And, rather than to seek in vain,
I use my finger in its stead,
And fancy as I feel the pain,
If coals can burn to such degree,
How hot, O Lord, must Hades be!

So in tobacco oft I find,
Lessons of such instructive type;
And hence with calm, contented mind
I live, and smoke my faithful pipe
In reverence where'er I roam,--
On land, on water, and at home.



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