Once, while Jesus was journeying about, He passed near a town where a man named Jairus lived. This man was a ruler in the synagogue, and he had just one little daughter about twelve years of age. At the time that Jesus was there the little ... Read more of THE STORY OF JAIRUS'S DAUGHTER at Children Stories.caInformational Site Network Informational
Privacy
   Home - Smoking Articles - History of Smoking - Poems about Smoking - Giving up Alcohol

Smoking Poems

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

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

Ingin Summer.
Jest about the time when Fall Gits to rattlin' in th...

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

Smoke Is The Food Of Lovers.
When Cupid open'd shop, the trade he chose Was just th...

My Cigarette.
_WORDS AND MUSIC BY RICHARD BARNARD_. To my sweet ciga...

Cannon Song.
And it has turned since you and I Set out to face th...

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

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

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

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

Pipe And Tobacco.
When my pipe burns bright and clear, The gods I need n...

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

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

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

My Little Brown Pipe.
I have a little comforter, I carry in my pocket: ...

My Friendly Pipe.
Let sybarites still dream delights While smoking cig...

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

Titlepage Dedication.
"Let those smoke now who never smoked before, And those ...

My Meerschaums.
Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved, High...



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 3440