Emperor from 527-565 A.D. In the time of Clovis the country now called Bulgaria was inhabited by Goths. One day a poor shepherd boy, about sixteen years of age, left his mountain home in that country to go to the city of Constantinopl... Read more of Justinian the Great at Biographical.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

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

Envoi.
Smokers, who doubt or con or pro, And ye who dare to...

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

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

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

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

Knickerbocker.
Shade of Herrick, Muse of Locker, Help me sing of Knic...

A Valentine.
What's my love's name? Guess her name. Nina? No....

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
_A SAILOR'S VERSION_. They were three jolly sailors bo...

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

Virginia's Kingly Plant.
_BY AN "OLD SALT."_ Oh, muse! grant me the power (I...

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

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

With Pipe And Book.
With Pipe and Book at close of day, Oh, what is sweete...

To See Her Pipe Awry.
Betty bouncer kept a stall At the corner of a street...

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

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



SONG OF THE SMOKE-WREATHS.








_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._


Not like clouds that cap the mountains,
Not like mists that mask the sea,
Not like vapors round the fountains,--
Soft and clear and warm are we.

Hear the tempest, how its minions
Tear the clouds and heap the snows!
No storm-rage is in our pinions;
Who knows us, 'tis peace he knows.

Soaring from the burning censers,
Stealing forth through all the air,
Hovering as the mild dispensers
Over you of blisses rare,

Softly float we, softly blend we,
Tinted from the deep blue sky,
Scented from the myrrh-lands, bend we
Downward to you ere we die.

Ease we bring, and airy fancies,
Sober thoughts with visions gay,
Peace profound with daring glances
Through the clouds to endless day.

Not like clouds that cap the mountains,
Not like mists that mask the sea,
Not like vapors round the fountains,--
Soft and clear and warm are we.

L.T.A., in _London Society_.





Next: SMOKE AND CHESS.

Previous: THE FARMER'S PIPE.



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