It was one evening in the summer of the year 1755 that Campbell of Inverawe {157} was on Cruachan hill side. He was startled by seeing a man coming towards him at full speed; a man ragged, bleeding, and evidently suffering agonies of terror. ... Read more of Ticonderoga at Scary Stories.caInformational Site Network Informational
Privacy
   Home - Smoking Articles - History of Smoking - Poems about Smoking - Giving up Alcohol

Smoking Poems

My Pipe.
When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me; When fr...

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

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

My Cigarette.
Ma pauvre petite, My little sweet, Why do you cry...

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

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

The Farmer's Pipe.
Make a picture, dreamy smoke, In my still and cosey ...

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

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

Cigars And Beer.
Here With my beer I sit, While g...

Cigarette Rings.
How it blows! How it rains! I'll not turn out to-night; ...

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

Tobacco.
Let poets rhyme of what they will, Youth, Beauty, Love...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...



THE DUET.








I was smoking a cigarette;
Maud, my wife, and the tenor, McKey,
Were singing together a blithe duet,
And days it were better I should forget
Came suddenly back to me,--
Days when life seemed a gay masque ball,
And to love and be loved was the sum of it all.

As they sang together, the whole scene fled,
The room's rich hangings, the sweet home air,
Stately Maud, with her proud blond head,
And I seemed to see in her place instead
A wealth of blue-black hair,
And a face, ah! your face--yours, Lisette;
A face it were wiser I should forget.

We were back--well, no matter when or where;
But you remember, I know, Lisette.
I saw you, dainty and debonair,
With the very same look that you used to wear
In the days I should forget.
And your lips, as red as the vintage we quaffed,
Were pearl-edged bumpers of wine when you laughed.

Two small slippers with big rosettes
Peeped out under your kilt-skirt there,
While we sat smoking our cigarettes
(Oh, I shall be dust when my heart forgets!)
And singing that self-same air:
And between the verses, for interlude,
I kissed your throat and your shoulders nude.

You were so full of a subtle fire,
You were so warm and so sweet, Lisette;
You were everything men admire;
And there were no fetters to make us tire,
For you were--a pretty grisette.
But you loved as only such natures can,
With a love that makes heaven or hell for a man.

They have ceased singing that old duet,
Stately Maud and the tenor, McKey.
"You are burning your coat with your cigarette,
And _qu'avez vous_, dearest, your lids are wet,"
Maud says, as she leans o'er me.
And I smile, and lie to her, husband-wise,
"Oh, it is nothing but smoke in my eyes."

ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.





Next: MY CIGARETTE.

Previous: IN ROTTEN ROW.



Add to Informational Site Network
Report
Privacy
ADD TO EBOOK


Viewed 3999