—Gossip —Our Words The Life Which is Tainted by the Habit of Speaking Unkind Words Falls Short of Its Highest Mission. THE LESSON—That the subtle practice of speaking carelessly concerning other people poisons many ... Read more of The Brook at How to Draw.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

Smoke And Chess.
We were sitting at chess as the sun went down; And he,...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meerschaum.
Come to me, O my meerschaum, For the vile street organ...

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

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

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

Cannon Song.
Come, seniors, come, and fill your pipes, Your richest...

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

A Bachelor's Views.
A pipe, a book, A cosy nook, A fire,--at least ...

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

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

My Cigarette.
_WORDS AND MUSIC BY RICHARD BARNARD_. To my sweet ciga...

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

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

My Cigarette.
My cigarette! The amulet That charms afar unrest and...



TO MY CIGAR.








Yes, social friend, I love thee well,
In learned doctor's spite;
Thy clouds all other clouds dispel,
And lap me in delight.

What though they tell, with phizzes long,
My years are sooner past!
I would reply with reason strong,
They're sweeter while they last.

When in the lonely evening hour,
Attended but by thee,
O'er history's varied page I pore,
Man's fate in thine I see.

Oft as the snowy column grows,
Then breaks and falls away,
I trace how mighty realms thus rose,
Thus tumbled to decay.

Awhile like thee earth's masters burn
And smoke and fume around;
And then, like thee, to ashes turn,
And mingle with the ground.

Life's but a leaf adroitly rolled,
And Time's the wasting breath
That, late or early, we behold
Gives all to dusty death.

From beggar's frieze to monarch's robe,
One common doom is passed;
Sweet Nature's works, the swelling globe,
Must all burn out at last.

And what is he who smokes thee now?
A little moving heap,
That soon, like thee, to fate must bow,
With thee in dust must sleep.

But though thy ashes downward go,
Thy essence rolls on high;
Thus, when my body lieth low,
My soul shall cleave the sky.

CHARLES SPRAGUE.





Next: KNICKERBOCKER.

Previous: THE SCENT OF A GOOD CIGAR.



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