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

Ashes.
Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown, Alone I puff my brie...

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

Those Ashes.
Up to the frescoed ceiling The smoke of my cigarette...

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

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

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

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

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

He Respondeth.
SHE. You still persist in using, I observe with g...

My Meerschaums.
Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved, High...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tobacco Is An Indian Weed.
Tobacco's but an Indian weed, Grows green at morn, cut...

My After-dinner Cloud.
Some sombre evening, when I sit And feed in solitude...

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

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



THE SMOKER'S REVERIE.








(_OCTOBER._)


I'm sitting at dusk 'neath the old beechen tree,
With its leaves by the autumn made ripe;
While they cling to the stems like old age unto life,
I dream of the days when I'll rest from this strife,
And in peace smoke my brierwood pipe.

O my brierwood pipe!--of bright fancy the twin,
What a medley of forms you create;
Every puff of white smoke seems a vision as fair
As the poet's bright dream, and like dreams fades in air,
While the dreamer dreams on of his fate.

The fleecy white clouds that now float in the sky,
Form the visions I love most to see;
Fairy shapes that I saw in my boyhood's first dreams
Seem to beckon me on, while beyond them there gleams
A bright future, in waiting for me.

O my brierwood pipe! I ne'er loved thee as now,
As that fair form and face steal above;
See, she beckons me on to where roses are spread,
And she points to my fancy the bright land ahead,
Where the winds whisper nothing but love.

Oh, answer, my pipe, shall my dream be as fair
When it changes to dreams of the past?
When autumn's chill winds make this leaf look as sere
As the leaves on the beech-tree that shelters me here,
Will the tree's _heart_ be chilled by the blast?

While musing, around me has gathered a heap
Of the leaflets, all dying and dead;
And I see in my reverie plainly revealed
The slope of life's hill, in my boyhood concealed
By the forms that fair fancy had bred.

While I sit on the banks of the beautiful stream,
Picking roses that bloom by its side,
I know that the shallop will certainly come,
When the roses are withered, to carry me home,
And that life will go out with the tide.

O my brierwood pipe! may the heart be as light
When memory supplanteth the dream;
When the sun has gone down may the sunbeam remain,
And life's roses, though dead, all their fragrance retain,
Till they catch at Eternity's gleam.

ANON.





Next: A BRIEF PUFF OF SMOKE.

Previous: EPITAPH



Add to Informational Site Network
Report
Privacy
ADD TO EBOOK


Viewed 3733