Green results from the mixing of blue and yellow in varying proportions according to the shade of colour required. Every dyer has his particular yellow weed with which he greens his blue dyed stuff. But the best greens are undoubtedly go... Read more of Green at Dyeing.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

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

Cigarette Rings.
How it blows! How it rains! I'll not turn out to-night; ...

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

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

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

To My Cigar.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doc...

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Betrothed.
"_YOU MUST CHOOSE BETWEEN ME AND YOUR CIGAR._" Open the ...

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

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

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

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

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

In Favor Of Tobacco.
Much victuals serves for gluttony To fatten men like s...

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



THOSE ASHES.








Up to the frescoed ceiling
The smoke of my cigarette
In a sinuous spray is reeling,
Forming flower and minaret.

What delicious landscape floating
On perfumed wings I see;
Pale swans I am idly noting,
And queens robed in filagree.

I see such delicious faces
As ne'er man saw before,
And my fancy fondly chases
Sweet maids on a fairy shore.

Now to bits my air-castle crashes,
And those pictures I see no more;
My grandmother yells: "Them ashes--
Don't drop them on the floor!"

R.K. MUNKITTRICK.





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Previous: THE TRUE LEUCOTHOE.



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