"Alas, monsieur, in spite of our fine courtesies, the conception of justice by one race must always seem outlandish to another!" It was on the terrace of Sir Henry Marquis' villa at Cannes. The members of the little party were in conversat... Read more of The Man In The Green Hat at Mystery Stories.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

Epitaph
_ON A YOUNG LADY WHO DESIRED THAT TOBACCO MIGHT BE PLANTED OV...

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

The Ballade Of Tobacco.
When verdant youth sees life afar, And first sets ou...

Wrongfellow.
I like cigars Beneath the stars, Upon the water...

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

A Brief Puff Of Smoke.
Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig, Ne'er deemed the ...

In Rotten Row.
In Rotten Row a cigarette I sat and smoked, with no re...

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

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

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

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

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

An Old Sweetheart Of Mine.
As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, An...

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

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

Ad Nicotina.
"_A CONSTRAINED HYPERBOLE._" Let others sing the prais...

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

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

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

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



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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