VIEW THE MOBILE VERSION of www.giveup.ca Informational Site Network Informational
Privacy
   Home - Smoking Articles - History of Smoking - Poems about Smoking - Giving up Alcohol

Smoking Poems

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

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

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

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

The Pipe Critic.
Say, pipe, let's talk of love; Canst aid me?...

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

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the toper regale in his tankard of ale, Or with ...

Virginia's Kingly Plant.
_BY AN "OLD SALT."_ Oh, muse! grant me the power (I...

Those Ashes.
Up to the frescoed ceiling The smoke of my cigarette...

My Cigarette.
My cigarette! The amulet That charms afar unrest and...

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

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

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

A Valentine.
What's my love's name? Guess her name. Nina? No....

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

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

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

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

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

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



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 3405