1. Those employed in the wards in the care of the patients, as their Attendants, should remember that their first duty is to treat them with unvarying kindness, respect and attention. Feelings of mutual good will, can, with few exceptions, be s... Read more of Attendants at Insane Asylum.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

Invocation To Tobacco.
Weed of the strange flower, weed of the earth, Killer ...

The Patriotic Smoker's Lament.
Tell me, shade of Walter Raleigh, Briton of the true...

Knickerbocker.
Shade of Herrick, Muse of Locker, Help me sing of Knic...

My Little Brown Pipe.
I have a little comforter, I carry in my pocket: ...

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

"a Free Puff."
Do you remember when first we met? I was turning twent...

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

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

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...

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

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

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

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

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

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

In Wreaths Of Smoke.
In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise, Faces of o...

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

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

Meerschaum.
Come to me, O my meerschaum, For the vile street organ...



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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