O, rich young lord, thou ridest by With looks of high disdain; It chafes me not thy title high, Thy blood of oldest strain. The lady riding at thy side Is but in name thy promised bride, Ride on, young lord, ride on! Her father wills... Read more of Compensation at Martin Luther King.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

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

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

The Smoker's Calendar.
When January's cold appears, A glowing pipe my spirit ...

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

Cannon Song.
Come, seniors, come, and fill your pipes, Your richest...

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

An Old Sweetheart Of Mine.
As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, An...

To My Meerschaum.
There's a charm in the sun-crested hills, In the qui...

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

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

The Scent Of A Good Cigar.
What is it comes through the deepening dusk,-- Somethi...

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

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

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

A Pot, And A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Some praise taking snuff; And 'tis pleasant en...

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

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

The Betrothed.
"_YOU MUST CHOOSE BETWEEN ME AND YOUR CIGAR._" Open the ...

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

In Rotten Row.
In Rotten Row a cigarette I sat and smoked, with no re...



IF I WERE KING.








If I were king, my pipe should be premier.
The skies of time and chance are seldom clear,
We would inform them all, with bland blue weather.
Delight alone would need to shed a tear,
For dream and deed should war no more together.

Art should aspire, yet ugliness be dear;
Beauty, the shaft, should speed with wit for feather;
And love, sweet love, should never fall to sere,
If I were king.

But politics should find no harbour near;
The Philistine should fear to slip his tether;
Tobacco should be duty free, and beer;
In fact, in room of this, the age of leather,
An age of gold all radiant should appear,
If I were king.

W.E. HENLEY.





Next: THE PIPE YOU MAKE YOURSELF.

Previous: A POT, AND A PIPE OF TOBACCO.



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