"There was something very strange about William's death--very strange indeed!" sighed a melancholy man in the back of the van. It was the seedman's father, who had hitherto kept silence. "And what might that have been?" asked Mr Lackland... Read more of The Superstitious Man's Story at Scary Stories.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

Another Match.
_AFTER A.C. SWINBURNE._ If love were dhudeen olden, ...

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

If I Were King.
If I were king, my pipe should be premier. The skies o...

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

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

Sweet Smoking Pipe.
Sweet smoking pipe; bright glowing stove, Companion ...

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

Ingin Summer.
Jest about the time when Fall Gits to rattlin' in th...

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

Confession Of A Cigar Smoker.
I owe to smoking, more or less, Through life the whole...

What I Like.
To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream, Upon the ...

Tobacco.
Let poets rhyme of what they will, Youth, Beauty, Love...

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

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

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

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

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

The Duet.
I was smoking a cigarette; Maud, my wife, and the te...

"keats Took Snuff."
"Keats took snuff.... It has been established by the ...

The Ballad Of The Pipe.
Oh, give me but Virginia's weed, An earthen bowl, a st...



ODE TO MY PIPE.








O Blessed pipe,
That now I clutch within my gripe,
What joy is in thy smooth, round bowl,
As black as coal!

So sweetly wed
To thy blanched, gradual thread,
Like Desdemona to the Moor,
Thou pleasure's core.

What woman's lip
Could ever give, like thy red tip,
Such unremitting store of bliss,
Or such a kiss?

Oh, let me toy,
Ixion-like, with cloudy joy;
Thy stem with a most gentle slant
I eye askant!

Unseen, unheard,
Thy dreamy nectar is transferred,
The while serenity astride
Thy neck doth ride.

A burly cloud
Doth now thy outward beauties shroud:
And now a film doth upward creep,
Cuddling the cheek.

And now a ring,
A mimic silver quoit, takes wing;
Another and another mount on high,
Then spread and die.

They say in story
That good men have a crown of glory;
O beautiful and good, behold
The crowns unfold!

How did they live?
What pleasure could the Old World give
That ancient miserable lot
When thou wert not?

Oh, woe betide!
My oldest, dearest friend hath died,--
Died in my hand quite unaware,
Oh, Baccy rare!

ANDREW WYNTER.





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