Informational Site NetworkInformational Site Network
Privacy
 
   Home - Smoking Articles - History of Smoking - Poems about Smoking - Giving up Alcohol

Smoking Poems

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

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

Cannon Song.
And it has turned since you and I Set out to face th...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sublime Tobacco.
But here the herald of the self-same mouth Came breath...

In Favor Of Tobacco.
Much victuals serves for gluttony To fatten men like s...

Smoking Spiritualized.
The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently...

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

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

To My Cigar.
The warmth of thy glow, Well-lighted cigar, Makes h...

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

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

To An Old Pipe.
Once your smoothly polished face Nestled lightly in a ...

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



ASHES.








Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown,
Alone I puff my brier brown,
And watch the ashes settle down
In lambent flashes;
While thro' the blue, thick, curling haze,
I strive with feeble eyes to gaze,
Upon the half-forgotten days
That left but ashes.

Again we wander through the lane,
Beneath the elms and out again,
Across the rippling fields of grain,
Where softly flashes
A slender brook 'mid banks of fern,
At every sigh my pulses burn,
At every thought I slowly turn
And find but ashes.

What made my fingers tremble so,
As you wrapped skeins of worsted snow,
Around them, now with movements slow
And now with dashes?
Maybe 'tis smoke that blinds my eyes,
Maybe a tear within them lies;
But as I puff my pipe there flies
A cloud of ashes.

Perhaps you did not understand,
How lightly flames of love were fanned.
Ah, every thought and wish I've planned
With something clashes!
And yet within my lonely den
Over a pipe, away from men,
I love to throw aside my pen
And stir the ashes.

DE WITT STERRY.





Next: CHOOSING A WIFE BY A PIPE OF TOBACCO.

Previous: IN WREATHS OF SMOKE.



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 3032