It has been suggested that this puzzle was a great favourite among the young apprentices of the City of London in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Readers will have noticed the curious brass grasshopper on the Royal Exchange. This long-lived ... Read more of THE GRASSHOPPER PUZZLE. at Math Puzzle.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

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

In Favor Of Tobacco.
Much victuals serves for gluttony To fatten men like s...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Titlepage Dedication.
"Let those smoke now who never smoked before, And those ...

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

A Loss.
How hard a thing it is to part From those we love an...

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

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

Sweet Smoking Pipe.
Sweet smoking pipe; bright glowing stove, Companion ...

Wrongfellow.
I like cigars Beneath the stars, Upon the water...

The Cigar.
Some sigh for this and that, My wishes don't go far;...



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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