What is a Capital letter?... Read more of What is a Capital letter? at Speaking Writing.comInformational Site Network Informational
Privacy
   Home - Smoking Articles - History of Smoking - Poems about Smoking - Giving up Alcohol

Smoking Poems

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

Seasonable Sweets.
"_DON'T BE FLOWERY, JACOB._"--CHARLES DICKENS. When th...

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

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

My Pipe.
When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me; When fr...

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

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

On A Broken Pipe.
Neglected now it lies, a cold clay form, So late with ...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Virginia Tobacco.
Two maiden dames of sixty-two Together long had dwel...

Wrongfellow.
I like cigars Beneath the stars, Upon the water...

Edifying Reflections Of A Tobacco-smoker.
_SET TO MUSIC BY JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. TRANS...

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

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



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 3379