Speaking Writing.com - Articles on Speaking and Writing, Quiz Questions Visit Speaking Writing.comInformational Site Network Informational
Privacy
   Home - Smoking Articles - History of Smoking - Poems about Smoking - Giving up Alcohol

Smoking Poems

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

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

'twas Off The Blue Canaries.
'Twas off the blue Canary isles, A glorious summer d...

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

A Winter Evening Hymn To My Fire.
Nicotia, dearer to the Muse Than all the grape's bewil...

A Brief Puff Of Smoke.
Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig, Ne'er deemed the ...

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

Maecenas Bids His Friend To Dine.
I beg you come to-night and dine. A welcome waits you, a...

Smoking Away.
Floating away like the fountains' spray, Or the snow...

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

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

Another Match.
_AFTER A.C. SWINBURNE._ If love were dhudeen olden, ...

Effusion By A Cigar Smoker.
Warriors! who from the cannon's mouth blow fire, ...

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

Sublime Tobacco.
But here the herald of the self-same mouth Came breath...

To The Tobacco Pipe.
Dear piece of fascinating clay! 'Tis thine to smooth l...

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

Two Other Hearts.
Full tender beamed the light of love down from his manl...

The Duet.
I was smoking a cigarette; Maud, my wife, and the te...

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



THOSE ASHES.








Up to the frescoed ceiling
The smoke of my cigarette
In a sinuous spray is reeling,
Forming flower and minaret.

What delicious landscape floating
On perfumed wings I see;
Pale swans I am idly noting,
And queens robed in filagree.

I see such delicious faces
As ne'er man saw before,
And my fancy fondly chases
Sweet maids on a fairy shore.

Now to bits my air-castle crashes,
And those pictures I see no more;
My grandmother yells: "Them ashes--
Don't drop them on the floor!"

R.K. MUNKITTRICK.





Next: WHAT I LIKE.

Previous: THE TRUE LEUCOTHOE.



Add to Informational Site Network
Report
Privacy
ADD TO EBOOK


Viewed 3990