". . . 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.ca
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Smoking Poems

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

The Last Pipe.
When head is sick and brain doth swim, And heavy hangs...

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

The Happy Smoking-ground.
When that last pipe is smoked at last And pouch and ...

Smoke And Chess.
We were sitting at chess as the sun went down; And he,...

Pipe And Tobacco.
When my pipe burns bright and clear, The gods I need n...

'twas Off The Blue Canaries.
'Twas off the blue Canary isles, A glorious summer d...

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

An Encomium On Tobacco.
Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight, And...

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

A Symphony In Smoke.
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet, Who likes to muse and ...

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

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

Effusion By A Cigar Smoker.
Warriors! who from the cannon's mouth blow fire, ...

Motto For A Tobacco Jar.
Come! don't refuse sweet Nicotina's aid, But woo the...

The Patriotic Smoker's Lament.
Tell me, shade of Walter Raleigh, Briton of the true...

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

An Ode Of Thanks For Certain Cigars.
_TO CHARLES ELIOT NORTON._ Luck, my dear Norton, still...

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

Chibouque.
At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan, The pacha in his pala...



SEASONABLE SWEETS.








"_DON'T BE FLOWERY, JACOB._"--CHARLES DICKENS.


When the year is young, what sweets are flung
By the violets, hiding, dim,
And the lilac that sways her censers high,
Whilst the skylark chants a hymn!
How sweet is the scent of the daffodil bloom,
When blithe spring decks each spray,
And the flowering thorn sheds rare perfume
Through the beautiful month of May!
What a dainty pet is the mignonette,
Whose sweets wide scattered are!
But sweeter to me than all these yet
Is the scent of a prime cigar!

Delicious airs waft the fields of June,
When the beans are all in flower;
The woodruff is fragrant in the hedge,
And the woodbine in the bower.
Sweet eglantine doth her garlands twine
For the blithe hours as they run,
And balmily sighs the meadow-sweet,
That is all in love with the sun,
Whilst new-mown hay o'er the hedgerows gay
Flings odorous airs afar;
Yet sweeter than these on the passing breeze
Is the scent of a prime cigar.

When all the beauties of Flora's court
Smile on the gay parterre,
What glorious color, what exquisite form,
And dainty scents are there!
They bask in the beam, and bend by the stream,
Like beautiful nymphs at play,
Holding dew-pearls up in each nectar cup
To the glorious God of Day.
Oh, their lives are sweet, but all too brief,
And death doth their sweetness mar;
But fragrance fine is forever thine,
My well-beloved cigar!

C.





Next: GEORDIE TO HIS TOBACCO-PIPE.
Previous: IT MAY BE WEEDS.


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