". . . The sun had hardly risen when we left the house. We were looking for quail, each with a shotgun, but we had only one dog. Morgan said that our best ground was beyond a certain ridge that he pointed out, and we crossed it by a trail throu... Read more of What May Happen In A Field Of Wild Oats at Scary Stories.caInformational Site Network Informational.ca
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Smoking Poems

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

In Wreaths Of Smoke.
In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise, Faces of o...

The Pipe Critic.
Say, pipe, let's talk of love; Canst aid me?...

The Old Clay Pipe.
There's a lot of solid comfort In an old clay pipe, ...

The Happy Smoking-ground.
When that last pipe is smoked at last And pouch and ...

What I Like.
To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream, Upon the ...

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...

It May Be Weeds.
It may be weeds I've gathered too; But even weeds...

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

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

My Three Loves.
When Life was all a summer day, And I was under twenty...

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

On Receipt Of A Rare Pipe.
I lifted off the lid with anxious care, Removed the ...

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

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

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

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

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

Old Pipe Of Mine.
Companion of my lonely hours, Full many a time 'twix...

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



HENRY FIELDING.








Friend of my youth, companion of my later days.
What needs my Muse to sing thy various praise?
In country or in town, on land or sea,
The weed is still delightful company.
In joy or sorrow, grief or racking pain,
We fly to thee for solace once again.
Delicious plant, by all the world consumed,
'Tis pity thou, like man, to ashes too art doom'd.

ANON.




Tobacco, some say, is a potent narcotic,
That rules half the world in a way quite despotic;
So, to punish him well for his wicked and merry tricks,
We'll burn him forthwith, as they used to do heretics.





Next: TO MY CIGAR.
Previous: A PIPE OF TOBACCO.


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