A ghost in a haunted house is seldom observed with anything like scientific precision. The spectre in the following narrative could not be photographed, attempts being usually made in a light which required prolonged exposure. Efforts to touc... Read more of The Lady In Black at Scary Stories.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

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

Sublime Tobacco.
But here the herald of the self-same mouth Came breath...

Ashes.
Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown, Alone I puff my brie...

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

Pernicious Weed!
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, Makes half a s...

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

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

Too Great A Sacrifice.
The maid, as by the papers doth appear, Whom fifty tho...

Knickerbocker.
Shade of Herrick, Muse of Locker, Help me sing of Knic...

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

Cigars And Beer.
Here With my beer I sit, While g...

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

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

My Friendly Pipe.
Let sybarites still dream delights While smoking cig...

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the toper regale in his tankard of ale, Or with ...

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

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

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

Tobacco Is An Indian Weed.
Tobacco's but an Indian weed, Grows green at morn, cut...

Henry Fielding.
Friend of my youth, companion of my later days. Wh...



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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