The fruit of this plant is known in the West Indies as the star apple, the interior of which, when cut across, shows ten cells, and as many seeds disposed regularly round the center, giving a star-like appearance, as stars are generally represen... Read more of Chrysophyllum Cainito at Home Gardening.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

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

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

Smoking Spiritualized.
The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently...

Smokers, who doubt or con or pro, And ye who dare to...

On Receipt Of A Rare Pipe.
I lifted off the lid with anxious care, Removed the ...

A Poet's Pipe.

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

To thee, blest weed, whose sovereign wiles, O'er cankere...

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

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

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
_A SAILOR'S VERSION_. They were three jolly sailors bo...

My Friendly Pipe.
Let sybarites still dream delights While smoking cig...

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

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

Too Great A Sacrifice.
The maid, as by the papers doth appear, Whom fifty tho...

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

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

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

Ingin Summer.
Jest about the time when Fall Gits to rattlin' in th...

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


I was smoking a cigarette;
Maud, my wife, and the tenor, McKey,
Were singing together a blithe duet,
And days it were better I should forget
Came suddenly back to me,--
Days when life seemed a gay masque ball,
And to love and be loved was the sum of it all.

As they sang together, the whole scene fled,
The room's rich hangings, the sweet home air,
Stately Maud, with her proud blond head,
And I seemed to see in her place instead
A wealth of blue-black hair,
And a face, ah! your face--yours, Lisette;
A face it were wiser I should forget.

We were back--well, no matter when or where;
But you remember, I know, Lisette.
I saw you, dainty and debonair,
With the very same look that you used to wear
In the days I should forget.
And your lips, as red as the vintage we quaffed,
Were pearl-edged bumpers of wine when you laughed.

Two small slippers with big rosettes
Peeped out under your kilt-skirt there,
While we sat smoking our cigarettes
(Oh, I shall be dust when my heart forgets!)
And singing that self-same air:
And between the verses, for interlude,
I kissed your throat and your shoulders nude.

You were so full of a subtle fire,
You were so warm and so sweet, Lisette;
You were everything men admire;
And there were no fetters to make us tire,
For you were--a pretty grisette.
But you loved as only such natures can,
With a love that makes heaven or hell for a man.

They have ceased singing that old duet,
Stately Maud and the tenor, McKey.
"You are burning your coat with your cigarette,
And _qu'avez vous_, dearest, your lids are wet,"
Maud says, as she leans o'er me.
And I smile, and lie to her, husband-wise,
"Oh, it is nothing but smoke in my eyes."



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