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

How It Once Was.
Right stout and strong the worthy burghers stood, ...

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

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

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

The Smoke Traveller.
When I puff my cigarette, Straight I see a Spanish g...

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

'twas Off The Blue Canaries.
'Twas off the blue Canary isles, A glorious summer d...

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

Tobacco Is An Indian Weed.
Tobacco's but an Indian weed, Grows green at morn, cut...

Her Brother's Cigarette.
Like raven's wings her locks of jet, Her soft eyes tou...

It May Be Weeds.
It may be weeds I've gathered too; But even weeds...

My Three Loves.
When Life was all a summer day, And I was under twenty...

On A Tobacco Jar.
Three hundred years ago or soe, One worthy knight an...

Ode To Tobacco.
Thou, who when fears attack Bidst them avaunt, and Bla...

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

Ashes.
Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown, Alone I puff my brie...

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

Pernicious Weed!
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, Makes half a s...

My Cigarette.
My cigarette! The amulet That charms afar unrest and...

The Patriotic Smoker's Lament.
Tell me, shade of Walter Raleigh, Briton of the true...



MY CIGAR.








In spite of my physician, who is, _entre nous_, a fogy,
And for every little pleasure has some pathologic bogy,
Who will bear with no small vices, and grows dismally prophetic
If I wander from the weary way of virtue dietetic;

In spite of dire forewarnings that my brains will all be scattered,
My memory extinguished, and my nervous system shattered,
That my hand will take to trembling, and my heart begin to flutter,
My digestion turn a rebel to my very bread and butter;

As I puff this mild Havana, and its ashes slowly lengthen,
I feel my courage gather and my resolution strengthen:
I will smoke, and I will praise you, my cigar, and I will light you
With tobacco-phobic pamphlets by the learned prigs who fight you!

Let him who has a mistress to her eyebrow write a sonnet,
Let the lover of a lily pen a languid ode upon it;
In such sentimental subjects I'm a Philistine and cynic,
And prefer the inspiration drawn from sources nicotinic.

So I sing of you, dear product of (I trust you are) Havana,
And if there's any question as to how my verses scan, a
Reason is my shyness in the Muses' aid invoking,
As, like other ancient maidens, they perchance object to smoking.

I have learnt with you the wisdom of contemplative quiescence,
While the world is in a ferment of unmeaning effervescence,
That its jar and rush and riot bring no good one-half so sterling
As your fleecy clouds of fragrance that are now about me curling.

So, let stocks go up or downward, and let politicians wrangle,
Let the parsons and philosophers grope in a wordy tangle,
Let those who want them scramble for their dignities or dollars,
Be millionnaires or magnates, or senators or scholars.

I will puff my mild Havana, and I quietly will query,
Whether, when the strife is over, and the combatants are weary,
Their gains will be more brilliant than its faint expiring flashes,
Or more solid than this panful of its dead and sober ashes.

ARTHUR W. GUNDRY.





Next: TO C.F. BRADFORD.

Previous: A POET'S PIPE.



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 4122