It was one evening in the summer of the year 1755 that Campbell of Inverawe {157} was on Cruachan hill side. He was startled by seeing a man coming towards him at full speed; a man ragged, bleeding, and evidently suffering agonies of terror. ... Read more of Ticonderoga at Scary Stories.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

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

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

With Pipe And Book.
With Pipe and Book at close of day, Oh, what is sweete...

Tobacco Is An Indian Weed.
Tobacco's but an Indian weed, Grows green at morn, cut...

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

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

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

Tobacco.
The Indian weed, withered quite, Green at noon, cut do...

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

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

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

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

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

Pipe And Tobacco.
When my pipe burns bright and clear, The gods I need n...

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

Pipes And Beer.
Before I was famous I used to sit In a dull old unde...

It May Be Weeds.
It may be weeds I've gathered too; But even weeds...

Chibouque.
At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan, The pacha in his pala...

"keats Took Snuff."
"Keats took snuff.... It has been established by the ...

To The Rev. Mr. Newton.
Says the Pipe to the Snuff-box, "I can't understand ...



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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