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

Smoking Poems

Confession Of A Cigar Smoker.
I owe to smoking, more or less, Through life the whole...

Sweet Smoking Pipe.
Sweet smoking pipe; bright glowing stove, Companion ...

Sic Transit.
Just a note that I found on my table, By the bills of ...

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

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

Epitaph
_ON A YOUNG LADY WHO DESIRED THAT TOBACCO MIGHT BE PLANTED OV...

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

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...

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

The Old Clay Pipe.
There's a lot of solid comfort In an old clay pipe, ...

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

If I Were King.
If I were king, my pipe should be premier. The skies o...

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

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

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

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

Cannon Song.
Come, seniors, come, and fill your pipes, Your richest...

Motto For A Tobacco Jar.
Come! don't refuse sweet Nicotina's aid, But woo the...

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

A Warning.
HE. I loathe all books. I hate to see The world a...



SONG OF THE SMOKE-WREATHS.








_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._


Not like clouds that cap the mountains,
Not like mists that mask the sea,
Not like vapors round the fountains,--
Soft and clear and warm are we.

Hear the tempest, how its minions
Tear the clouds and heap the snows!
No storm-rage is in our pinions;
Who knows us, 'tis peace he knows.

Soaring from the burning censers,
Stealing forth through all the air,
Hovering as the mild dispensers
Over you of blisses rare,

Softly float we, softly blend we,
Tinted from the deep blue sky,
Scented from the myrrh-lands, bend we
Downward to you ere we die.

Ease we bring, and airy fancies,
Sober thoughts with visions gay,
Peace profound with daring glances
Through the clouds to endless day.

Not like clouds that cap the mountains,
Not like mists that mask the sea,
Not like vapors round the fountains,--
Soft and clear and warm are we.

L.T.A., in _London Society_.





Next: SMOKE AND CHESS.

Previous: THE FARMER'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 3299