Once upon a time, there was a Rat Princess, who lived with her father, the Rat King, and her mother, the Rat Queen, in a ricefield in far away Japan. The Rat Princess was so pretty that her father and mother were quite foolishly proud of... Read more of THE RAT PRINCESS at Children Stories.caInformational Site Network Informational
Privacy
   Home - Smoking Articles - History of Smoking - Poems about Smoking - Giving up Alcohol

Smoking Poems

Effusion By A Cigar Smoker.
Warriors! who from the cannon's mouth blow fire, ...

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

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

Another Match.
_AFTER A.C. SWINBURNE._ If love were dhudeen olden, ...

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

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

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

My Meerschaums.
Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved, High...

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

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

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

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

Tobacco.
Let poets rhyme of what they will, Youth, Beauty, Love...

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

In Wreaths Of Smoke.
In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise, Faces of o...

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

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

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

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

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



A BACHELOR'S SOLILOQUY.








I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire,
I ne'er knew the Benedict's yoke;
I worship a fairy-like, fanciful form,
That goes up the chimney in smoke.

I sit in my dressing-gowned slipperful ease,
Without wife or bairns to provoke,
And puff at my pipe, while my hopes and my fears
All go up the chimney in smoke.

I sit with my pipe, and my heart's lonesome care
I try, but all vainly, to choke.
Ah, me! but I find that the flame that Love lights
Won't go up the chimney in smoke.

_Cigar and Tobacco World_, London.





Next: THE DREAMER'S PIPE.

Previous: ODE TO TOBACCO.



Add to del.icio.us Add to Reddit Add to Digg Add to Del.icio.us Add to Google Add to Twitter Add to Stumble Upon
Add to Informational Site Network
Report
Privacy
SHAREADD TO EBOOK


Viewed 2323