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

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

The Lost Lotus.
'Tis said that in the sun-embroidered East, There dw...

The Dreamer's Pipe.
Meerschaum, thing with amber tip, Clutched between the...

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

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

To See Her Pipe Awry.
Betty bouncer kept a stall At the corner of a street...

A Farewell To Tobacco.
May the Babylonish curse Straight confound my stammeri...

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, ...

The Duet.
I was smoking a cigarette; Maud, my wife, and the te...

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

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

A Loss.
How hard a thing it is to part From those we love an...

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the learned talk of books, The glutton...

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

He Respondeth.
SHE. You still persist in using, I observe with g...

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

Sic Transit.
Just a note that I found on my table, By the bills of ...

A Warning.
HE. I loathe all books. I hate to see The world a...

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



CANNON SONG.








And it has turned since you and I
Set out to face the world alone;
And, in a garret near the sky,
Had scarce a crust to call our own,
But many a banquet, Barmecide;
And many a dream of hope divine,
Lie buried in the moaning tide,
That drowns the past, old pipe of mine!

But prosing isn't quite the thing,
And so, I guess, I'll give it up:
Just wait a moment while I sing;
We'll have another parting cup,
And then to bed. The stars are low;
Yon sickly moon has ceased to shine;
So here she goes, and off we go
To Slumberland, old pipe of mine!

JOHN J. GORMLEY.





Next: CANNON SONG.

Previous: OLD PIPE OF MINE.



Add to Informational Site Network
Report
Privacy
ADD TO EBOOK


Viewed 3593