Many years ago, the few readers of radical Abolitionist papers must often have seen the singular name of Sojourner Truth, announced as a frequent speaker at Anti-Slavery meetings, and as travelling on a sort of self-appointed ag... Read more of SOJOURNER TRUTH, THE LIBYAN SIBYL at Martin Luther King.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

The Lost Lotus.
'Tis said that in the sun-embroidered East, There dw...

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

On A Tobacco Jar.
Three hundred years ago or soe, One worthy knight an...

Smoke Is The Food Of Lovers.
When Cupid open'd shop, the trade he chose Was just th...

The Smoker's Reverie.
(_OCTOBER._) I'm sitting at dusk 'neath the old beeche...

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

My Little Brown Pipe.
I have a little comforter, I carry in my pocket: ...

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...

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

He Respondeth.
SHE. You still persist in using, I observe with g...

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

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...

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

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

Clouds.
Mortals say their heart is light When the clouds aroun...

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



SHE.








The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint!
Around my pretty, cherished book,
The odor vile, the noisome taint
Of horrid, stale tobacco-smoke
Yet lingers!
The hateful man, my book to spoil!
Patrick, the tongs--lest I should soil
My fingers!

This lovely rose, these lilies frail,
These violets he has sent to me
The odor of his pipe exhale!
Am I to blame that I should be
Enraged?
Tell Mr. Simpson every time
He calls upon me, Patrick, I'm
Engaged!

ARTHUR LOVELL.





Next: TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON.

Previous: A WARNING.



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