". . . 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
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Smoking Poems

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

Pipes And Beer.
Before I was famous I used to sit In a dull old unde...

To An Old Pipe.
Once your smoothly polished face Nestled lightly in a ...

The Ballade Of Tobacco.
When verdant youth sees life afar, And first sets ou...

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

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

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

A Bachelor's Soliloquy.
I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire, I ne'er kn...

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

Smoking Away.
Floating away like the fountains' spray, Or the snow...

Seasonable Sweets.
"_DON'T BE FLOWERY, JACOB._"--CHARLES DICKENS. When th...

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

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
'Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,-- Or p'raps a ...

A Good Cigar.
Oh, 'tis well and enough, A whiff or a puff From th...

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

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

Cigarette Rings.
How it blows! How it rains! I'll not turn out to-night; ...

On A Broken Pipe.
Neglected now it lies, a cold clay form, So late with ...

Titlepage Dedication.
"Let those smoke now who never smoked before, And those ...

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...



MY PIPE AND I.








There may be comrades in this world,
As stanch and true as steel.
There are: and by their friendships firm
Is life made only real.
But, after all, of all these hearts
That close with mine entwine,
None lie so near, nor seem so dear
As this old pipe of mine.

My silent friend--whose voice is held
Fast for my ear alone--
Stays with me always, well content,
With Darby to be Joan.
No fickleness disturbs our lot;
No jars its peace to smother;
Ah, no; my faithful pipe and I
Have wooed and won--each other.

On clouds of curling incense sweet,
We go--my pipe and I--
To lands far off, where skies stay blue
Through all the years that fly.
And nights and days, with rosy dreams
Teems bright--an endless throng
That passing leave, in echoing wake,
Soft murmurings of song.

Does this dream fade? Another comes
To fill its place and more.
In castles silvern roam we now,
They're ours! All! All are ours!
What'er the wreathing rings enfold
Drops shimmering golden showers!

No sordid cost our steps can stay,
We travel free as air.
Our wings are fancies, incense-borne,
That feather-light upbear.
Begone! ye powers of steam and flood.
Thy roads creep far too slow;
We need thee not. My pipe and I
Swifter than Time must go.

Why, what is this? The pipe gone out?
Well, well, the fire's out, too!
The dreams are gone--we're poor once more;
Life's pain begins anew.
'Tis time for sleep, my faithful pipe,
But may thy dreamings be,
Through slumbering hours hued as bright
As those thou gav'st to me!

ELTON J. BUCKLEY.





Next: SIC TRANSIT.

Previous: A WINTER EVENING HYMN TO MY FIRE.



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