Aside from the enjoyment of firecrackers, etc., there are a few games to amuse the children on this day. If a party has been planned for the Fourth, the rooms should be appropriately decorated for the occasion. As soon as all the children a... Read more of JULY FOURTH. at Games Kids Play.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

Ode To Tobacco.
Thou, who when fears attack Bidst them avaunt, and Bla...

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

My Pipe.
When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me; When fr...

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

A Warning.
HE. I loathe all books. I hate to see The world a...

Meerschaum.
Come to me, O my meerschaum, For the vile street organ...

My Cigarette.
My cigarette! The amulet That charms afar unrest and...

Latakia.
I. When all the panes are hung with frost, Wild wiz...

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

Choosing A Wife By A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Tube, I love thee as my life; By thee I mean to choose...

To The Tobacco Pipe.
Dear piece of fascinating clay! 'Tis thine to smooth l...

A Poet's Pipe.
_FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE._ A poet's pipe...

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

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

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

Edifying Reflections Of A Tobacco-smoker.
_SET TO MUSIC BY JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. TRANS...

To My Cigar.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doc...

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

The Old Clay Pipe.
There's a lot of solid comfort In an old clay pipe, ...

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



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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