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

Smoking Poems

To The Rev. Mr. Newton.
Says the Pipe to the Snuff-box, "I can't understand ...

Henry Fielding.
Friend of my youth, companion of my later days. Wh...

A Good Cigar.
Oh, 'tis well and enough, A whiff or a puff From th...

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

Meerschaum.
Come to me, O my meerschaum, For the vile street organ...

A Symphony In Smoke.
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet, Who likes to muse and ...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too Great A Sacrifice.
The maid, as by the papers doth appear, Whom fifty tho...

My Cigar.
In spite of my physician, who is, _entre nous_, a fogy, ...

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

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

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

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

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



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 2780