A man left his cat with his brother while he went on vacation for a week. When he came back, he called his brother to see when he could pick the cat up. The brother hesitated, then said, "I'm so sorry, but while you were away, the cat died." The ma... Read more of Cat on the roof at Free Jokes.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

To My Cigar.
The warmth of thy glow, Well-lighted cigar, Makes h...

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

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

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

Pipes And Beer.
Before I was famous I used to sit In a dull old unde...

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

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

Sic Transit.
Just a note that I found on my table, By the bills of ...

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

A Poet's Pipe.
_FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE._ A poet's pipe...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



SUBLIME TOBACCO.








But here the herald of the self-same mouth
Came breathing o'er the aromatic South,
Not like a "bed of violets" on the gale,
But such as wafts its cloud o'er grog or ale,
Borne from a short, frail pipe, which yet had blown
Its gentle odors over either zone,
And, puff'd where'er minds rise or waters roll,
Had wafted smoke from Portsmouth to the Pole,
Opposed its vapor as the lightning flash'd,
And reek'd, 'midst mountain billows unabashed,
To AEolus a constant sacrifice,
Through every change of all the varying skies.
And what was he who bore it? I may err,
But deem him sailor or philosopher.
Sublime tobacco! which from east to west
Cheers the tar's labor or the Turkman's rest;
Which on the Moslem's ottoman divides
His hours, and rivals opiums and his brides;
Magnificent in Stamboul, but less grand,
Though not less loved, in Wapping on the Strand;
Divine in hookas, glorious in a pipe,
When tipp'd with amber, mellow, rich, and ripe;
Like other charmers, wooing the caress
More dazzlingly when daring in full dress;
Yet thy true lovers more admire by far
Thy naked beauties,--give me a cigar!

LORD BYRON:

_The Island, Canto ii., Stanza 19._





Next: SMOKING AWAY.

Previous: THE DREAMER'S PIPE.



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