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

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

What I Like.
To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream, Upon the ...

The Pipe Critic.
Say, pipe, let's talk of love; Canst aid me?...

The Smoke Traveller.
When I puff my cigarette, Straight I see a Spanish g...

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

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

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

The Cigar.
Some sigh for this and that, My wishes don't go far;...

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

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

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

Wrongfellow.
I like cigars Beneath the stars, Upon the water...

To My Cigar.
The warmth of thy glow, Well-lighted cigar, Makes h...

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

Smoking Song.
With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl, As mist ...

Inscription For A Tobacco Jar.
Keep me at hand; and as my fumes arise, You'll find _a...

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

Pipes And Beer.
Before I was famous I used to sit In a dull old unde...

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

The Scent Of A Good Cigar.
What is it comes through the deepening dusk,-- Somethi...



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 3297