Just as humans have power points, the earth also has areas where energy varies. These are called power spots. Places like Stonehenge, and the Valley of the Dead are examples of power spots. Just as human beings have areas w... Read more of POWER SPOTS at White Magic.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

Old Pipe Of Mine.
Companion of my lonely hours, Full many a time 'twix...

Inscription For A Tobacco Jar.
Keep me at hand; and as my fumes arise, You'll find _a...

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

Ode To Tobacco.
Thou, who when fears attack Bidst them avaunt, and Bla...

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

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

The Old Clay Pipe.
There's a lot of solid comfort In an old clay pipe, ...

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...

An Ode Of Thanks For Certain Cigars.
_TO CHARLES ELIOT NORTON._ Luck, my dear Norton, still...

A Symphony In Smoke.
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet, Who likes to muse and ...

My Three Loves.
When Life was all a summer day, And I was under twenty...

How It Once Was.
Right stout and strong the worthy burghers stood, ...

Her Brother's Cigarette.
Like raven's wings her locks of jet, Her soft eyes tou...

What I Like.
To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream, Upon the ...

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

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

Edifying Reflections Of A Tobacco-smoker.
_SET TO MUSIC BY JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. TRANS...

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

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

Ingin Summer.
Jest about the time when Fall Gits to rattlin' in th...



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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