A syllable is a distinct sound produced by a single effort of [Transcriber's note: 1-2 words illegible] shall, pig, dog. In every syllable there must be at least one vowel. A word consists of one syllable or a combination of syllables. Man... Read more of SYLLABLES AND WORDS at Speaking Writing.comInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

My Cigarette.
Ma pauvre petite, My little sweet, Why do you cry...

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

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

Those Ashes.
Up to the frescoed ceiling The smoke of my cigarette...

Geordie To His Tobacco-pipe.
Good pipe, old friend, old black and colored friend, W...

Ashes.
Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown, Alone I puff my brie...

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

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

The Old Clay Pipe.
There's a lot of solid comfort In an old clay pipe, ...

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

My Cigarette.
My cigarette! The amulet That charms afar unrest and...

To My Meerschaum.
There's a charm in the sun-crested hills, In the qui...

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

My Cigarette.
_WORDS AND MUSIC BY RICHARD BARNARD_. To my sweet ciga...

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

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

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

My Meerschaums.
Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved, High...

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

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



THE BALLAD OF THE PIPE.








Oh, give me but Virginia's weed,
An earthen bowl, a stem of reed,
What care I for the weather?
Though winter freeze and summer broil
We rest us from our days of toil
My Pipe and I together!

Like to a priest of sacred fane,
I nightly light the glow again
With reverence and pleasure;
For through this plain and modest bowl
I coax sweet mem'ry to my soul
And many trippings measure!

There's comfort in each puff of smoke,
Defiance to ill-fortune's stroke
And happiness forever!
There grows a volume full of thought
And humor, than the book you bought
Holds nothing half so clever!

The summer fragrance, all pent up
Among the leaves, is here sent up
In dreams of summer glory;
And these blue clouds that slowly rise
Were colored by the summer skies,
And tell a summer story.

And oh! the happiest, sweetest times
Come ringing all their silver chimes
Of merry songs and laughter;
And all that may be well and worth
For Mother Future to bring forth
I do imagine after.

What care I if my poor means
Clad not my walls with splendid scenes
And pictures by the masters;
Here in the curling smoke-wreath glow
Bold hills and lovely vales below,
And brooks with nodding asters.

All that on earth is fair and fine,
This fragrant magic makes it mine,
And gives me sole dominion;
And if you call me fanciful,
I only take a stronger pull,
And laugh at your opinion.

Let others fret and fume with care,
'Tis easy finding everywhere,
But happiness is rarer;
And if I find it sweet and ripe,
In this tobacco and my pipe,
I'll count it all the fairer.

Then give me but Virginia's weed,
An earthen bowl, a stem of reed,
What care I for the weather?
Though winter freeze, or summer broil
We rest us from the days of toil,
My Pipe and I together.

HERMANN RAVE.





Next: THE OLD CLAY PIPE.

Previous: "KEATS TOOK SNUFF."



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