you will neeed: pictures or drawing of fairy a one white or pink candle After prepairing,do this while you are standing and arms sideward then chant creatures i want to be a beautiful fairy wings are colorful oh my will so mote i... Read more of Spell to become Fairy at White Magic.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

"keats Took Snuff."
"Keats took snuff.... It has been established by the ...

My After-dinner Cloud.
Some sombre evening, when I sit And feed in solitude...

Inscription For A Tobacco Jar.
Keep me at hand; and as my fumes arise, You'll find _a...

Two Other Hearts.
Full tender beamed the light of love down from his manl...

Ad Nicotina.
"_A CONSTRAINED HYPERBOLE._" Let others sing the prais...

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

Sublime Tobacco.
But here the herald of the self-same mouth Came breath...

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

If I Were King.
If I were king, my pipe should be premier. The skies o...

The Dreamer's Pipe.
Meerschaum, thing with amber tip, Clutched between the...

"a Free Puff."
Do you remember when first we met? I was turning twent...

The Indian weed, withered quite, Green at noon, cut do...

The Ballad Of The Pipe.
Oh, give me but Virginia's weed, An earthen bowl, a st...

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

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

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

Her Brother's Cigarette.
Like raven's wings her locks of jet, Her soft eyes tou...

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

What I Like.
To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream, Upon the ...

In The Ol' Tobacker Patch.
I jess kind o' feel so lonesome that I don't know what to...



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_.



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