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

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

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

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

To My Cigar.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doc...

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

A Song Without A Name.
AIR: "_THE VICAR OF BRAY_." 'Twas in Queen Bess's gold...

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

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the learned talk of books, The glutton...

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

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

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

My Cigarette.
My cigarette! The amulet That charms afar unrest and...

In Rotten Row.
In Rotten Row a cigarette I sat and smoked, with no re...

A Poet's Pipe.
_FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE._ A poet's pipe...

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

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

Acrostic.
To thee, blest weed, whose sovereign wiles, O'er cankere...

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

On A Tobacco Jar.
Three hundred years ago or soe, One worthy knight an...

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



THE BALLAD OF THE PIPE.








Oh, give me but Virginia's weed,
An earthen bowl, a stem of reed,
What care I for the weather?
Though winter freeze and summer broil
We rest us from our days of toil
My Pipe and I together!

Like to a priest of sacred fane,
I nightly light the glow again
With reverence and pleasure;
For through this plain and modest bowl
I coax sweet mem'ry to my soul
And many trippings measure!

There's comfort in each puff of smoke,
Defiance to ill-fortune's stroke
And happiness forever!
There grows a volume full of thought
And humor, than the book you bought
Holds nothing half so clever!

The summer fragrance, all pent up
Among the leaves, is here sent up
In dreams of summer glory;
And these blue clouds that slowly rise
Were colored by the summer skies,
And tell a summer story.

And oh! the happiest, sweetest times
Come ringing all their silver chimes
Of merry songs and laughter;
And all that may be well and worth
For Mother Future to bring forth
I do imagine after.

What care I if my poor means
Clad not my walls with splendid scenes
And pictures by the masters;
Here in the curling smoke-wreath glow
Bold hills and lovely vales below,
And brooks with nodding asters.

All that on earth is fair and fine,
This fragrant magic makes it mine,
And gives me sole dominion;
And if you call me fanciful,
I only take a stronger pull,
And laugh at your opinion.

Let others fret and fume with care,
'Tis easy finding everywhere,
But happiness is rarer;
And if I find it sweet and ripe,
In this tobacco and my pipe,
I'll count it all the fairer.

Then give me but Virginia's weed,
An earthen bowl, a stem of reed,
What care I for the weather?
Though winter freeze, or summer broil
We rest us from the days of toil,
My Pipe and I together.

HERMANN RAVE.





Next: THE OLD CLAY PIPE.

Previous: "KEATS TOOK SNUFF."



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 3074