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

Meerschaum.
Come to me, O my meerschaum, For the vile street organ...

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

To My Meerschaum.
There's a charm in the sun-crested hills, In the qui...

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

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

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

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

The Farmer's Pipe.
Make a picture, dreamy smoke, In my still and cosey ...

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

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

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

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

The Ballade Of Tobacco.
When verdant youth sees life afar, And first sets ou...

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

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

A Good Cigar.
Oh, 'tis well and enough, A whiff or a puff From th...

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

Another Match.
_AFTER A.C. SWINBURNE._ If love were dhudeen olden, ...

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

Smoking Song.
With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl, As mist ...



INGIN SUMMER.








Jest about the time when Fall
Gits to rattlin' in the trees,
An' the man thet knows it all,
'Spicions frost in every breeze,
When a person tells hisse'f
Thet the leaves look mighty thin,
Then thar blows a meller breaf!
Ingin summer's hyere agin.

Kind-uh smoky-lookin' blues
Spins acrost the mountain-side,
An' the heavy mornin' dews
Greens the grass up far an' wide,
Natur' raly 'pears as ef
She wuz layin' off a day,--
Sort-uh drorin in her breaf
'Fore she freezes up to stay.

Nary lick o' work I strike,
'Long about this time of year!
I'm a sort-uh slowly like,
Right when Ingin summer's here.
Wife and boys kin do the work;
But a man with natchel wit,
Like I got, kin 'ford to shirk,
Ef he has a turn for it.

Time when grapes set in to ripe,
All I ast off any man
Is a common co'n-cob pipe
With terbacker to my han';
Then jest loose me whar the air
Simmers 'crost me, wahm an' free!
Promised lands ull find me thar;
Wings ull fahly sprout on me!

I'm a loungin' 'round on thrones,
Bossin' worlds f'om shore to shore,
When I stretch my marrer-bones
Jest outside the cabin door!
An' the sunshine peepin' down
On my old head, bald an' gray,
'Pears right like the gilted crown,
I expect to w'ar some day.

EVA WILDER MCGLASSON.





Next: EDIFYING REFLECTIONS OF A TOBACCO-SMOKER.

Previous: TO SEE HER PIPE AWRY.



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 2303