An out-of-towner accidentally drives his car into a deep ditch on the side of a country road. Luckily a farmer happened by with his big old horse named Benny. The man asked for help. The farmer said Benny could pull his car out. So he backed Benn... Read more of Horse power at Free Jokes.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

Envoi.
Smokers, who doubt or con or pro, And ye who dare to...

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

The Last Pipe.
When head is sick and brain doth swim, And heavy hangs...

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

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

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

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

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

In The Ol' Tobacker Patch.
I jess kind o' feel so lonesome that I don't know what to...

The Patriotic Smoker's Lament.
Tell me, shade of Walter Raleigh, Briton of the true...

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

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

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

The Smoker's Reverie.
(_OCTOBER._) I'm sitting at dusk 'neath the old beeche...

Maecenas Bids His Friend To Dine.
I beg you come to-night and dine. A welcome waits you, a...

Smoke Is The Food Of Lovers.
When Cupid open'd shop, the trade he chose Was just th...

Too Great A Sacrifice.
The maid, as by the papers doth appear, Whom fifty tho...

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...

Geordie To His Tobacco-pipe.
Good pipe, old friend, old black and colored friend, W...



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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