There was once a widow who had two daughters, one named Rose and the other Blanche. Blanche was good and beautiful and gentle, but the mother cared nothing for her and gave her only hard words and harder blows; but she loved Rose as she lo... Read more of The Talking Eggs - A Story From Louisiana at Urban Myths.caInformational Site Network Informational.ca
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Smoking Poems

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

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

Cannon Song.
And it has turned since you and I Set out to face th...

The Lost Lotus.
'Tis said that in the sun-embroidered East, There dw...

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Pot, And A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Some praise taking snuff; And 'tis pleasant en...

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

Henry Fielding.
Friend of my youth, companion of my later days. Wh...

Seasonable Sweets.
"_DON'T BE FLOWERY, JACOB._"--CHARLES DICKENS. When th...

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

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

A Farewell To Tobacco.
May the Babylonish curse Straight confound my stammeri...

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

Pernicious Weed!
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, Makes half a s...

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...



THE LATEST CONVERT.








I've been in love some scores of times,
With Amy, Nellie, Katie, Mary--
To name them all would stretch my rhymes
From here as far as Demerary.

But each has wed some other man,--
Girls always do, I find, in real life,--
And I am left alone to scan
The horizon of my own ideal life.

I still survive. I was, I think,
Not born to run in double harness;
I did not shirk my food and drink
When Nellie married Harry Carnice.

But I am wedded to my pipe!
That faithful friend, nought can provoke it;
Should it grow cold, I gently wipe
Its mouth, then fill it, light, and smoke it.

But it is sweet to kiss; and I
Should love to kiss a wife and pet her--
She scolds? Straight to my pipe I fly;
Her scowls through fragrant smoke look better.

There's merry Maud--with her I'd dare
To brave the matrimonial ocean;
_She_ would not pout or fret, but wear
A constant smile of sweet devotion.

How know I that she will not change,
My wishes at defiance set? Oh!
(Pray this in smallest type arrange)
She smokes--at times--a cigareto.

F.W. LITTLETON HAY.





Next: CONFESSION OF A CIGAR SMOKER.
Previous: PIPE AND TOBACCO.


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