The insects most commonly attacking the apple are the codlin-moth, tent-caterpillar, canker-worm and borer. The codlin-moth lays its eggs on the fruit about the time of the falling of the blossoms, and the larvae when hatched eat into the young fruit... Read more of APPLE ENEMIES at Home Gardening.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

An Encomium On Tobacco.
Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight, And...

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
'Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,-- Or p'raps a ...

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

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

The Last Pipe.
When head is sick and brain doth swim, And heavy hangs...

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

My Meerschaum Pipe.
Old meerschaum pipe, I'll fondly wipe Thy scarred an...

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

The Smoker's Reverie.
(_OCTOBER._) I'm sitting at dusk 'neath the old beeche...

She.
The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint! Around my pretty...

On A Broken Pipe.
Neglected now it lies, a cold clay form, So late with ...

The True Leucothoe.
Let others praise the god of wine, Or Venus, love, a...

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

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

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

The Ballade Of Tobacco.
When verdant youth sees life afar, And first sets ou...

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

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

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

Latakia.
I. When all the panes are hung with frost, Wild wiz...



THE HAPPY SMOKING-GROUND.








When that last pipe is smoked at last
And pouch and pipe put by,
And Smoked and Smoker both alike
In dust and ashes lie,
What of the Smoker? Whither passed?
Ah, will he smoke no more?
And will there be no golden cloud
Upon the golden shore?
Ah! who shall say we cry in vain
To Fate upon his hill,
For, howsoe'er we ask and ask,
He goes on smoking still.
But, surely, 'twere a bitter thing
If other men pursue
Their various earthly joys again
Beyond that distant blue,
If the poor Smoker might not ply
His peaceful passion too.
If Indian braves may still up there
On merry scalpings go,
And buried Britons rise again
With arrow and with bow,
May not the Smoker hope to take
His "cutty" from below?
So let us trust; and when at length
You lay me 'neath the yew,
Forget not, O my friends, I pray,
Pipes and tobacco too!

RICHARD LE GALLIENNE.





Next: SWEET SMOKING PIPE.

Previous: MY AFTER-DINNER CLOUD.



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