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

An Ode Of Thanks For Certain Cigars.
_TO CHARLES ELIOT NORTON._ Luck, my dear Norton, still...

Clouds.
Mortals say their heart is light When the clouds aroun...

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

To My Meerschaum.
There's a charm in the sun-crested hills, In the qui...

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
_A SAILOR'S VERSION_. They were three jolly sailors bo...

Invocation To Tobacco.
Weed of the strange flower, weed of the earth, Killer ...

The Lost Lotus.
'Tis said that in the sun-embroidered East, There dw...

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

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

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

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

The Smoker's Calendar.
When January's cold appears, A glowing pipe my spirit ...

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

Envoi.
Smokers, who doubt or con or pro, And ye who dare to...

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

To An Old Pipe.
Once your smoothly polished face Nestled lightly in a ...

A Pot, And A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Some praise taking snuff; And 'tis pleasant en...

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

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

On Receipt Of A Rare Pipe.
I lifted off the lid with anxious care, Removed the ...



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 2295