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

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

How It Once Was.
Right stout and strong the worthy burghers stood, ...

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

Edifying Reflections Of A Tobacco-smoker.
_SET TO MUSIC BY JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. TRANS...

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

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

The Smoker's Reverie.
(_OCTOBER._) I'm sitting at dusk 'neath the old beeche...

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

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

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

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

Motto For A Tobacco Jar.
Come! don't refuse sweet Nicotina's aid, But woo the...

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
_A SAILOR'S VERSION_. They were three jolly sailors bo...

My Cigarette.
_WORDS AND MUSIC BY RICHARD BARNARD_. To my sweet ciga...

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

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

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

Ode To Tobacco.
Come then, Tobacco, new-found friend, Come, and thy ...

Geordie To His Tobacco-pipe.
Good pipe, old friend, old black and colored friend, W...



"A FREE PUFF."








Do you remember when first we met?
I was turning twenty--well! I don't forget
How I walked along,
Humming a song
Across the fields and down the lane
By the country road, and back again
To the dear old farm--three miles or more--
And brought you home from the village store.

Summer was passing--don't you recall
The splendid harvest we had that Fall,
And how when the Autumn died,--sober and brown,--
We trudged down the turnpike, and on to the town?

Sweet black brierwood pipe of mine!
If you were human you'd be half divine,
For when I've looked beyond the smoke, into your burning bowl
In times of need
You've been, indeed,
The only comfort, sweetest solace, of my overflowing soul.
We've been together nearly thirty years, old fellow!
And now, you must admit, we're both a trifle mellow.
We have had our share of joys and a deal of sorrows,
And while we're only waiting for a few more to-morrows,
Others will come, and others will go,
And Time will gather what Youth will sow;
But we together will go down the rough
Road to the end, and to the end--puff.

ARTHUR IRVING GRAY.





Next: MY MEERSCHAUM PIPE.

Previous: WRONGFELLOW.



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 9282