Dwelling of Stone, Metal, Wood and Earth Silent One, Protective One, you of the four winds Dwelling of Health, Wealth Joy and Peace: Guardian Sustained you of the Earth Dwelling of Stone Metal Wood and Earth Secure One Peaceful One You of the ... Read more of DWELLING BLESSING at White Magic.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

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

Effusion By A Cigar Smoker.
Warriors! who from the cannon's mouth blow fire, ...

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

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

The Latest Convert.
I've been in love some scores of times, With Amy, Ne...

Smoking Song.
With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl, As mist ...

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

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

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

Geordie To His Tobacco-pipe.
Good pipe, old friend, old black and colored friend, W...

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

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

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

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

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

The True Leucothoe.
Let others praise the god of wine, Or Venus, love, a...

"a Free Puff."
Do you remember when first we met? I was turning twent...

My After-dinner Cloud.
Some sombre evening, when I sit And feed in solitude...

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

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



KNICKERBOCKER.








Shade of Herrick, Muse of Locker,
Help me sing of Knickerbocker!
Boughton, had you bid me chant
Hymns to Peter Stuyvesant,
Had you bid me sing of Wouter,
He, the onion head, the doubter!
But to rhyme of this one--Mocker!
Who shall rhyme to Knickerbocker?
Nay, but where my hand must fail,
There the more shall yours avail;
You shall take your brush and paint
All that ring of figures quaint,--
All those Rip Van Winkle jokers,
All those solid-looking smokers,
Pulling at their pipes of amber,
In the dark-beamed Council Chamber.

Only art like yours can touch
Shapes so dignified--and Dutch;
Only art like yours can show
How the pine logs gleam and glow,
Till the firelight laughs and passes
'Twixt the tankards and the glasses,
Touching with responsive graces
All those grave Batavian faces,
Making bland and beatific
All that session soporific.

Then I come and write beneath:
Boughton, he deserves the wreath;
He can give us form and hue--
This the Muse can never do!

AUSTIN DOBSON.





Next: THE DISCOVERY OF TOBACCO.

Previous: TO MY CIGAR.



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