A young couple got married and left on their honeymoon. When they got back, the bride immediately called her mother. "Well, how was the honeymoon?" asked the mother. "Oh mamma!" she exclaimed. "The honeymoon was wonderful! So romantic!" N... Read more of The honeymoon is over at Free Jokes.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

A Valentine.
What's my love's name? Guess her name. Nina? No....

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

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

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

A Loss.
How hard a thing it is to part From those we love an...

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

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

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

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

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

A Farewell To Tobacco.
May the Babylonish curse Straight confound my stammeri...

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

The Dreamer's Pipe.
Meerschaum, thing with amber tip, Clutched between the...

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

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

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

To C.f. Bradford.
_ON THE GIFT OF A MEERSCHAUM PIPE._ The pipe came safe...

A Winter Evening Hymn To My Fire.
Nicotia, dearer to the Muse Than all the grape's bewil...

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

My Cigarette.
_WORDS AND MUSIC BY RICHARD BARNARD_. To my sweet ciga...



MY AFTER-DINNER CLOUD.








Some sombre evening, when I sit
And feed in solitude at home,
Perchance an ultra-bilious fit
Paints all the world an orange chrome.

When Fear and Care and grim Despair
Flock round me in a ghostly crowd,
One charm dispels them all in air,--
I blow my after-dinner cloud.

'Tis melancholy to devour
The gentle chop in loneliness.
I look on six--my prandial hour--
With dread not easy to express.

And yet for every penance done,
Due compensation seems allow'd.
My penance o'er, its price is won,--
I blow my after-dinner cloud.

My clay is _not_ a Henry Clay,--
I like it better on the whole;
And when I fill it, I can say,
I drown my sorrows in the bowl.

For most I love my lowly pipe
When weary, sad, and leaden-brow'd;
At such a time behold me ripe
To blow my after-dinner cloud.

As gracefully the smoke ascends
In columns from the weed beneath,
My friendly wizard, Fancy, lends
A vivid shape to every wreath.

Strange memories of life or death
Up from the cradle to the shroud,
Come forth as, with enchanter's breath,
I blow my after-dinner cloud.

What wonder if it stills my care
To quit the present for the past,
And summon back the things that were,
Which only thus in vapor last?

What wonder if I envy not
The rich, the giddy, and the proud,
Contented in this quiet spot
To blow my after-dinner cloud?

HENRY S. LEIGH.





Next: THE HAPPY SMOKING-GROUND.

Previous: LATAKIA.



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