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

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

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

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

The True Leucothoe.
Let others praise the god of wine, Or Venus, love, a...

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

Ad Nicotina.
"_A CONSTRAINED HYPERBOLE._" Let others sing the prais...

Sublime Tobacco.
But here the herald of the self-same mouth Came breath...

The Ballade Of Tobacco.
When verdant youth sees life afar, And first sets ou...

My After-dinner Cloud.
Some sombre evening, when I sit And feed in solitude...

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

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

In Favor Of Tobacco.
Much victuals serves for gluttony To fatten men like s...

Latakia.
I. When all the panes are hung with frost, Wild wiz...

A Farewell To Tobacco.
May the Babylonish curse Straight confound my stammeri...

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

In Wreaths Of Smoke.
In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise, Faces of o...

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

A Brief Puff Of Smoke.
Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig, Ne'er deemed the ...

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

Old Pipe Of Mine.
Companion of my lonely hours, Full many a time 'twix...



SMOKE AND CHESS.








We were sitting at chess as the sun went down;
And he, from his meerschaum's glossy brown,
With a ring of smoke made his king a crown.

The cherry stem, with its amber tip,
Thoughtfully rested on his lip,
As the goblet's rim from which heroes sip.

And, looking out through the early green,
He called on his patron saint, I ween,--
That misty maiden, Saint Nicotine,--

While ever rested that crown so fair,
Poised in the warm and pulseless air,
On the carven chessman's ivory hair.

Dreamily wandered the game along,
Quietly moving at even-song,
While the striving kings stood firm and strong,

Until that one which of late was crowned
Flinched from a knight's determined bound,
And in sullen majesty left the ground,

Reeling back; and it came to pass
That, waiting to mutter no funeral mass,
A bishop had dealt him the _coup de grace_.

And so, as we sat, we reasoned still
Of fate and of fortune, of human will,
And what are the purposes men fulfil.

For we see at last, when the truth arrives,
The moves on the chess-board of our lives,--
That fields may be lost, though the king survives.

Not always he whom the world reveres
Merits its honor or wins its cheers,
Standing the best at the end of the years.

Not always he who has lost the fight
Rises again with the coming light,
Battles anew for his ancient right.

SAMUEL W. DUFFIELD.





Next: INSCRIPTION FOR A TOBACCO JAR.

Previous: SONG OF THE SMOKE-WREATHS.



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 2680