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

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

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

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

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

To See Her Pipe Awry.
Betty bouncer kept a stall At the corner of a street...

Ode To Tobacco.
Come then, Tobacco, new-found friend, Come, and thy ...

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

Maecenas Bids His Friend To Dine.
I beg you come to-night and dine. A welcome waits you, a...

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

Tobacco.
Let poets rhyme of what they will, Youth, Beauty, Love...

The Pipe You Make Yourself.
There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum pipes a...

If I Were King.
If I were king, my pipe should be premier. The skies o...

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

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

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

Epitaph
_ON A YOUNG LADY WHO DESIRED THAT TOBACCO MIGHT BE PLANTED OV...

Sweet Smoking Pipe.
Sweet smoking pipe; bright glowing stove, Companion ...

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

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

Chibouque.
At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan, The pacha in his pala...



MY AFTER-DINNER CLOUD.








Some sombre evening, when I sit
And feed in solitude at home,
Perchance an ultra-bilious fit
Paints all the world an orange chrome.

When Fear and Care and grim Despair
Flock round me in a ghostly crowd,
One charm dispels them all in air,--
I blow my after-dinner cloud.

'Tis melancholy to devour
The gentle chop in loneliness.
I look on six--my prandial hour--
With dread not easy to express.

And yet for every penance done,
Due compensation seems allow'd.
My penance o'er, its price is won,--
I blow my after-dinner cloud.

My clay is _not_ a Henry Clay,--
I like it better on the whole;
And when I fill it, I can say,
I drown my sorrows in the bowl.

For most I love my lowly pipe
When weary, sad, and leaden-brow'd;
At such a time behold me ripe
To blow my after-dinner cloud.

As gracefully the smoke ascends
In columns from the weed beneath,
My friendly wizard, Fancy, lends
A vivid shape to every wreath.

Strange memories of life or death
Up from the cradle to the shroud,
Come forth as, with enchanter's breath,
I blow my after-dinner cloud.

What wonder if it stills my care
To quit the present for the past,
And summon back the things that were,
Which only thus in vapor last?

What wonder if I envy not
The rich, the giddy, and the proud,
Contented in this quiet spot
To blow my after-dinner cloud?

HENRY S. LEIGH.





Next: THE HAPPY SMOKING-GROUND.

Previous: LATAKIA.



Add to Informational Site Network
Report
Privacy
ADD TO EBOOK


Viewed 3998