Out in the sky the great dark clouds are massing; I look far out into the pregnant night, Where I can hear a solemn booming gun And catch the gleaming of a random light, That tells me that the ship I seek is passing, passing. My tearful... Read more of Ships That Pass In The Night at Martin Luther King.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

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

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...

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

Smoking Spiritualized.
The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently...

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

To C.f. Bradford.
_ON THE GIFT OF A MEERSCHAUM PIPE._ The pipe came safe...

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

Cannon Song.
Come, seniors, come, and fill your pipes, Your richest...

My Meerschaums.
Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved, High...

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

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

My Three Loves.
When Life was all a summer day, And I was under twenty...

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

How It Once Was.
Right stout and strong the worthy burghers stood, ...

Smoking Song.
With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl, As mist ...

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

My Cigarette.
Ma pauvre petite, My little sweet, Why do you cry...

The Betrothed.
"_YOU MUST CHOOSE BETWEEN ME AND YOUR CIGAR._" Open the ...

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



SIC TRANSIT.








Just a note that I found on my table,
By the bills of a year buried o'er,
In a feminine hand and requesting
My presence for tennis at four.

Half remorseful for leaving it lying
In surroundings unworthy as those,
I carefully dusted and smoothed it,
And mutely begged pardon of Rose.

But I thought with a smile of the proverb
Which says you may treat as you will
The vase which has once contained roses,
Their fragrance will cling to it still.

For the writer I scarcely remember,
The occasion has vanished afar,
And the fragrance that clings to the letter
Recalls--an Havana cigar.

W.B. ANDERSON.





Next: THE BETROTHED.

Previous: MY PIPE AND I.



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