One morning in July, 1854, a planter named Williamson, living six miles from Selma, Alabama, was sitting with his wife and a child on the veranda of his dwelling. Immediately in front of the house was a lawn, perhaps fifty yards in extent ... Read more of The Difficulty Of Crossing A Field at Scary Stories.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

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

Choosing A Wife By A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Tube, I love thee as my life; By thee I mean to choose...

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

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

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the learned talk of books, The glutton...

Smoking Song.
With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl, As mist ...

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

The Latest Convert.
I've been in love some scores of times, With Amy, Ne...

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

The Farmer's Pipe.
Make a picture, dreamy smoke, In my still and cosey ...

The Happy Smoking-ground.
When that last pipe is smoked at last And pouch and ...

The Duet.
I was smoking a cigarette; Maud, my wife, and the te...

The Pipe You Make Yourself.
There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum pipes a...

My Pipe.
When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me; When fr...

Edifying Reflections Of A Tobacco-smoker.
_SET TO MUSIC BY JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. TRANS...

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

The Pipe Critic.
Say, pipe, let's talk of love; Canst aid me?...

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

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

Motto For A Tobacco Jar.
Come! don't refuse sweet Nicotina's aid, But woo the...



THE OLD CLAY PIPE.








There's a lot of solid comfort
In an old clay pipe, I find,
If you're kind of out of humor
Or in trouble in your mind.
When you're feeling awful lonesome
And don't know just what to do,
There's a heap of satisfaction
If you smoke a pipe or two.

The ten thousand pleasant memories
That are buried in your soul
Are playing hide and seek with you
Around that smoking bowl.
These are mighty restful moments:
You're at peace with all the world,
And the panorama changes
As the thin blue smoke is curled.

Now you cross the bridge of sorrows,
Now you enter pleasant lands,
And before an open doorway,
You will linger to shake hands
With a lithe and girlish figure
That is coming through the door;
Ah! you recognize the features:
You have seen that face before.

You are at the dear old homestead
Where you spent those happy years;
You are romping with the children;
You are smiling through your tears;
You have fought and whipped the bully
You are eight and he is ten.
Oh! how rapidly we travel,--
You are now a boy again.

You approach the open doorway,
And before the old armchair
You will stop and kiss the grandma,
You will smooth the thin white hair;
You will read the open Bible,
For the lamp is lit, you see.
It is now your hour for bed-time
And you kneel at mother's knee.

Still you linger at the hearthstone;
You are loath to leave the place.
When an apple cut's in progress:
You must wait and dance with Grace.

What's the matter with the music?
Only this: The pipe is broke,
And a thousand pleasant fancies
Vanish promptly with the smoke.

A.B. VAN FLEET.





Next: PERNICIOUS WEED!

Previous: THE BALLAD OF THE PIPE.



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