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

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

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

If I Were King.
If I were king, my pipe should be premier. The skies o...

A Winter Evening Hymn To My Fire.
Nicotia, dearer to the Muse Than all the grape's bewil...

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

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

Two Other Hearts.
Full tender beamed the light of love down from his manl...

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

Invocation To Tobacco.
Weed of the strange flower, weed of the earth, Killer ...

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

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

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

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

Inscription For A Tobacco Jar.
Keep me at hand; and as my fumes arise, You'll find _a...

My Cigarette.
Ma pauvre petite, My little sweet, Why do you cry...

The Ballad Of The Pipe.
Oh, give me but Virginia's weed, An earthen bowl, a st...

The Cigar.
Some sigh for this and that, My wishes don't go far;...

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

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

In Rotten Row.
In Rotten Row a cigarette I sat and smoked, with no re...



EFFUSION BY A CIGAR SMOKER.








Warriors! who from the cannon's mouth blow fire,
Your fame to raise,
Upon its blaze,
Alas! ye do but light your funeral pyre!
Tempting Fate's stroke;
Ye fall, and all your glory ends in smoke.
Safe in my chair from wounds and woe,
_My_ fire and smoke from mine own mouth I blow.

Ye booksellers! who deal, like me, in puffs,
The public smokes,
You and your hoax,
And turns your empty vapor to rebuffs.
Ye through the nose
Pay for each puff; when mine the same way flows,
It does not run me into debt;
And thus, the more I fume, the less I fret.

Authors! created to be puff'd to death,
And fill the mouth
Of some uncouth
Bookselling wight, who sucks your brains and breath,
Your leaves thus far
(Without its fire) resemble my cigar;
But vapid, uninspired, and flat:
When, when, O Bards, will ye _compose_ like _that_?

Since life and the anxieties that share
Our hopes and trust,
Are smoke and dust,
Give me the smoke and dust that banish care.
The roll'd leaf bring,
Which from its ashes, Phoenix-like, can spring;
The fragrant leaf whose magic balm
Can, like Nepenthe, all our sufferings charm.

Oh, what supreme beatitude is this!
What soft and sweet
Sensations greet
My soul, and wrap it in Elysian bliss!
I soar above
Dull earth in these ambrosial clouds, like Jove,
And from my empyrean height
Look down upon the world with calm delight.

HORACE SMITH.





Next: A POT, AND A PIPE OF TOBACCO.

Previous: CIGARS AND BEER.



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 2289