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

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

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...

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

To The Tobacco Pipe.
Dear piece of fascinating clay! 'Tis thine to smooth l...

In Favor Of Tobacco.
Much victuals serves for gluttony To fatten men like s...

What I Like.
To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream, Upon the ...

Cigarette Rings.
How it blows! How it rains! I'll not turn out to-night; ...

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

"a Free Puff."
Do you remember when first we met? I was turning twent...

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

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

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...

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

Sublime Tobacco.
But here the herald of the self-same mouth Came breath...

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

The Last Pipe.
When head is sick and brain doth swim, And heavy hangs...

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

My Little Brown Pipe.
I have a little comforter, I carry in my pocket: ...



KNICKERBOCKER.








Shade of Herrick, Muse of Locker,
Help me sing of Knickerbocker!
Boughton, had you bid me chant
Hymns to Peter Stuyvesant,
Had you bid me sing of Wouter,
He, the onion head, the doubter!
But to rhyme of this one--Mocker!
Who shall rhyme to Knickerbocker?
Nay, but where my hand must fail,
There the more shall yours avail;
You shall take your brush and paint
All that ring of figures quaint,--
All those Rip Van Winkle jokers,
All those solid-looking smokers,
Pulling at their pipes of amber,
In the dark-beamed Council Chamber.

Only art like yours can touch
Shapes so dignified--and Dutch;
Only art like yours can show
How the pine logs gleam and glow,
Till the firelight laughs and passes
'Twixt the tankards and the glasses,
Touching with responsive graces
All those grave Batavian faces,
Making bland and beatific
All that session soporific.

Then I come and write beneath:
Boughton, he deserves the wreath;
He can give us form and hue--
This the Muse can never do!

AUSTIN DOBSON.





Next: THE DISCOVERY OF TOBACCO.

Previous: TO MY CIGAR.



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 3016