An officer of rank in the service of the late King of Prussia, having lost an amiable wife whom he tenderly loved, became quite inconsolable. Deeply wounded with his affliction, his mind was so absorbed in melancholy, that the transient pleas... Read more of The Prussian Dominoor Fatal Effects Of Jealousy at Scary Stories.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

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

Tobacco.
Let poets rhyme of what they will, Youth, Beauty, Love...

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

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

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

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the toper regale in his tankard of ale, Or with ...

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

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

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

To An Old Pipe.
Once your smoothly polished face Nestled lightly in a ...

Another Match.
_AFTER A.C. SWINBURNE._ If love were dhudeen olden, ...

How It Once Was.
Right stout and strong the worthy burghers stood, ...

In Rotten Row.
In Rotten Row a cigarette I sat and smoked, with no re...

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

Clouds.
Mortals say their heart is light When the clouds aroun...

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

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

Ode To My Pipe.
O Blessed pipe, That now I clutch within my gripe, ...

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

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



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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