A police dog responds to an ad for work with the FBI. "Well," says the personnel director, "You'll have to meet some strict requirements. First, you must type at least 60 words per minute." Sitting down at the typewriter, the dog types out 80 ... Read more of Bilingual Dog at Free Jokes.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

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

The Scent Of A Good Cigar.
What is it comes through the deepening dusk,-- Somethi...

Ode To My Pipe.
O Blessed pipe, That now I clutch within my gripe, ...

Pernicious Weed!
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, Makes half a s...

My Meerschaum Pipe.
Old meerschaum pipe, I'll fondly wipe Thy scarred an...

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

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
_A SAILOR'S VERSION_. They were three jolly sailors bo...

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

A Pot, And A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Some praise taking snuff; And 'tis pleasant en...

Smoking Away.
Floating away like the fountains' spray, Or the snow...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Titlepage Dedication.
"Let those smoke now who never smoked before, And those ...

A Bachelor's Soliloquy.
I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire, I ne'er kn...

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

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



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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