Hey, this is a spell to get someone you fancy or love to kiss you! I am currently studying "dream recall" because after i did this spell i became interested in magic. Well here it is: You need - 1 red candle A white piece of paper... Read more of Kiss me Spell at White Magic.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

A Winter Evening Hymn To My Fire.
Nicotia, dearer to the Muse Than all the grape's bewil...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An Old Sweetheart Of Mine.
As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, An...

A Brief Puff Of Smoke.
Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig, Ne'er deemed the ...

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

Meerschaum.
Come to me, O my meerschaum, For the vile street organ...

My Meerschaum Pipe.
Old meerschaum pipe, I'll fondly wipe Thy scarred an...

Henry Fielding.
Friend of my youth, companion of my later days. Wh...

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...

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

The Pipe Critic.
Say, pipe, let's talk of love; Canst aid me?...

She.
The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint! Around my pretty...



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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