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

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

Knickerbocker.
Shade of Herrick, Muse of Locker, Help me sing of Knic...

Henry Fielding.
Friend of my youth, companion of my later days. Wh...

The Smoker's Reverie.
(_OCTOBER._) I'm sitting at dusk 'neath the old beeche...

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

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

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

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, ...

My Cigarette.
_WORDS AND MUSIC BY RICHARD BARNARD_. To my sweet ciga...

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

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

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

My Friendly Pipe.
Let sybarites still dream delights While smoking cig...

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

The Duet.
I was smoking a cigarette; Maud, my wife, and the te...

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

To The Rev. Mr. Newton.
Says the Pipe to the Snuff-box, "I can't understand ...

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

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



LATAKIA.








I.

When all the panes are hung with frost,
Wild wizard-work of silver lace,
I draw my sofa on the rug,
Before the ancient chimney-place.
Upon the painted tiles are mosques
And minarets, and here and there
A blind muezzin lifts his hands,
And calls the faithful unto prayer.
Folded in idle, twilight dreams,
I hear the hemlock chirp and sing,
As if within its ruddy core
It held the happy heart of Spring.
Ferdousi never sang like that,
Nor Saadi grave, nor Hafiz gay;
I lounge, and blow white rings of smoke,
And watch them rise and float away.


II.

The curling wreaths like turbans seem
Of silent slaves that come and go,--
Or Viziers, packed with craft and crime,
Whom I behead from time to time,
With pipe-stem, at a single blow.
And now and then a lingering cloud
Takes gracious form at my desire,
And at my side my lady stands,
Unwinds her veil with snowy hands,--
A shadowy shape, a breath of fire!

O Love, if you were only here
Beside me in this mellow light,
Though all the bitter winds should blow,
And all the ways be choked with snow,
'Twould be a true Arabian night!

T.B. ALDRICH.





Next: MY AFTER-DINNER CLOUD.

Previous: 'TWAS OFF THE BLUE CANARIES.



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 2642