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

Smoking Poems

Acrostic.
To thee, blest weed, whose sovereign wiles, O'er cankere...

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

Confession Of A Cigar Smoker.
I owe to smoking, more or less, Through life the whole...

Pipe And Tobacco.
When my pipe burns bright and clear, The gods I need n...

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

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

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

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

"keats Took Snuff."
"Keats took snuff.... It has been established by the ...

She.
The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint! Around my pretty...

A Poet's Pipe.
_FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE._ A poet's pipe...

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

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

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

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

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

An Encomium On Tobacco.
Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight, And...

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

A Song Without A Name.
AIR: "_THE VICAR OF BRAY_." 'Twas in Queen Bess's gold...

The True Leucothoe.
Let others praise the god of wine, Or Venus, love, a...



IN WREATHS OF SMOKE.








In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise,
Faces of olden days uprise,
And in his dreamers revery
They haunt the smoker's brain, and he
Breathes for the past regretful sighs.

Mem'ries of maids, with azure eyes,
In dewy dells, 'neath June's soft skies,
Faces that more he'll only see
In wreaths of smoke.

Eheu, eheu! how fast Time flies,--
How youth-time passion droops and dies,
And all the countless visions flee!
How worn would all those faces be,
Were they not swathed in soft disguise
In wreaths of smoke!

FRANK NEWTON HOLMAN.





Next: ASHES.

Previous: ANOTHER MATCH.



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 3444