Was the brother of Peter. He preached the gospel to many Asiatic nations; but on his arrival at Edessa, he was taken and crucified on a cross, the two ends of which were fixed transversely in the ground. Hence the derivation of the term, St.... Read more of Andrew at Martyrs.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

On Receipt Of A Rare Pipe.
I lifted off the lid with anxious care, Removed the ...

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

Cannon Song.
And it has turned since you and I Set out to face th...

To An Old Pipe.
Once your smoothly polished face Nestled lightly in a ...

It May Be Weeds.
It may be weeds I've gathered too; But even weeds...

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

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

My Friendly Pipe.
Let sybarites still dream delights While smoking cig...

My Cigarette.

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

A Bachelor's Soliloquy.
I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire, I ne'er kn...

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

Cigarette Rings.
How it blows! How it rains! I'll not turn out to-night; ...

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

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

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

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

The Smoke Traveller.
When I puff my cigarette, Straight I see a Spanish g...

Virginia Tobacco.
Two maiden dames of sixty-two Together long had dwel...

The Smoker's Calendar.
When January's cold appears, A glowing pipe my spirit ...


Floating away like the fountains' spray,
Or the snow-white plume of a maiden,
The smoke-wreaths rise to the starlit skies
With blissful fragrance laden.

_Chorus._ Then smoke away till a golden ray
Lights up the dawn of the morrow,
For a cheerful cigar, like a shield, will bar,
The blows of care and sorrow.

The leaf burns bright, like the gems of light
That flash in the braids of Beauty;
It nerves each heart for the hero's part
On the battle-plain of duty.

In the thoughtful gloom of his darkened room,
Sits the child of song and story,
But his heart is light, for his pipe burns bright,
And his dreams are all of glory.

By the blazing fire sits the gray-haired sire,
And infant arras surround him;
And he smiles on all in that quaint old hall,
While the smoke-curls float around him.

In the forest grand of our native land,
When the savage conflict ended,
The "pipe of peace" brought a sweet release
From toil and terror blended.

The dark-eyed train of the maids of Spain
'Neath their arbor shades trip lightly,
And a gleaming cigar, like a new-born star,
In the clasp of their lips burns brightly

It warms the soul like the blushing bowl,
With its rose-red burden streaming,
And drowns it in bliss, like the first warm kiss
From the lips with love-buds teeming.




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