It is very important at the outset to consider the qualities of this very important line. In some hands it is broad and shallow on the surface of the hand, in others it is deep and fine; the appearance of this line is very often deceptive, and ... Read more of The Line Of Life at Palm Readings.orgInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

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

To An Old Pipe.
Once your smoothly polished face Nestled lightly in a ...

Tobacco.
Let poets rhyme of what they will, Youth, Beauty, Love...

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

The Smoke Traveller.
When I puff my cigarette, Straight I see a Spanish g...

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

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

Chibouque.
At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan, The pacha in his pala...

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the learned talk of books, The glutton...

Tobacco.
The Indian weed, withered quite, Green at noon, cut do...

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

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

Her Brother's Cigarette.
Like raven's wings her locks of jet, Her soft eyes tou...

Another Match.
_AFTER A.C. SWINBURNE._ If love were dhudeen olden, ...

Inscription For A Tobacco Jar.
Keep me at hand; and as my fumes arise, You'll find _a...

The Farmer's Pipe.
Make a picture, dreamy smoke, In my still and cosey ...

An Ode Of Thanks For Certain Cigars.
_TO CHARLES ELIOT NORTON._ Luck, my dear Norton, still...



EFFUSION BY A CIGAR SMOKER.








Warriors! who from the cannon's mouth blow fire,
Your fame to raise,
Upon its blaze,
Alas! ye do but light your funeral pyre!
Tempting Fate's stroke;
Ye fall, and all your glory ends in smoke.
Safe in my chair from wounds and woe,
_My_ fire and smoke from mine own mouth I blow.

Ye booksellers! who deal, like me, in puffs,
The public smokes,
You and your hoax,
And turns your empty vapor to rebuffs.
Ye through the nose
Pay for each puff; when mine the same way flows,
It does not run me into debt;
And thus, the more I fume, the less I fret.

Authors! created to be puff'd to death,
And fill the mouth
Of some uncouth
Bookselling wight, who sucks your brains and breath,
Your leaves thus far
(Without its fire) resemble my cigar;
But vapid, uninspired, and flat:
When, when, O Bards, will ye _compose_ like _that_?

Since life and the anxieties that share
Our hopes and trust,
Are smoke and dust,
Give me the smoke and dust that banish care.
The roll'd leaf bring,
Which from its ashes, Phoenix-like, can spring;
The fragrant leaf whose magic balm
Can, like Nepenthe, all our sufferings charm.

Oh, what supreme beatitude is this!
What soft and sweet
Sensations greet
My soul, and wrap it in Elysian bliss!
I soar above
Dull earth in these ambrosial clouds, like Jove,
And from my empyrean height
Look down upon the world with calm delight.

HORACE SMITH.





Next: A POT, AND A PIPE OF TOBACCO.

Previous: CIGARS AND BEER.



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