Informational Site NetworkInformational Site Network
Privacy
 
   Home - Smoking Articles - History of Smoking - Poems about Smoking - Giving up Alcohol

Smoking Poems

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

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

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

In The Ol' Tobacker Patch.
I jess kind o' feel so lonesome that I don't know what to...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smoke And Chess.
We were sitting at chess as the sun went down; And he,...

Tobacco.
The Indian weed, withered quite, Green at noon, cut do...

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

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...

A Loss.
How hard a thing it is to part From those we love an...



ODE TO MY PIPE.








O Blessed pipe,
That now I clutch within my gripe,
What joy is in thy smooth, round bowl,
As black as coal!

So sweetly wed
To thy blanched, gradual thread,
Like Desdemona to the Moor,
Thou pleasure's core.

What woman's lip
Could ever give, like thy red tip,
Such unremitting store of bliss,
Or such a kiss?

Oh, let me toy,
Ixion-like, with cloudy joy;
Thy stem with a most gentle slant
I eye askant!

Unseen, unheard,
Thy dreamy nectar is transferred,
The while serenity astride
Thy neck doth ride.

A burly cloud
Doth now thy outward beauties shroud:
And now a film doth upward creep,
Cuddling the cheek.

And now a ring,
A mimic silver quoit, takes wing;
Another and another mount on high,
Then spread and die.

They say in story
That good men have a crown of glory;
O beautiful and good, behold
The crowns unfold!

How did they live?
What pleasure could the Old World give
That ancient miserable lot
When thou wert not?

Oh, woe betide!
My oldest, dearest friend hath died,--
Died in my hand quite unaware,
Oh, Baccy rare!

ANDREW WYNTER.





Next: A PIPE OF TOBACCO.

Previous: THE LAST 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 3192