Informational Site NetworkInformational Site Network
Privacy
 
   Home - Smoking Articles - History of Smoking - Poems about Smoking - Giving up Alcohol

Smoking Poems

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

The Ballad Of The Pipe.
Oh, give me but Virginia's weed, An earthen bowl, a st...

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

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

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

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

Cannon Song.
And it has turned since you and I Set out to face th...

A Good Cigar.
Oh, 'tis well and enough, A whiff or a puff From th...

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

The Betrothed.
"_YOU MUST CHOOSE BETWEEN ME AND YOUR CIGAR._" Open the ...

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

The Lost Lotus.
'Tis said that in the sun-embroidered East, There dw...

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

"a Free Puff."
Do you remember when first we met? I was turning twent...

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

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

Clouds.
Mortals say their heart is light When the clouds aroun...

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

Virginia's Kingly Plant.
_BY AN "OLD SALT."_ Oh, muse! grant me the power (I...

Old Pipe Of Mine.
Companion of my lonely hours, Full many a time 'twix...



LATAKIA.








I.

When all the panes are hung with frost,
Wild wizard-work of silver lace,
I draw my sofa on the rug,
Before the ancient chimney-place.
Upon the painted tiles are mosques
And minarets, and here and there
A blind muezzin lifts his hands,
And calls the faithful unto prayer.
Folded in idle, twilight dreams,
I hear the hemlock chirp and sing,
As if within its ruddy core
It held the happy heart of Spring.
Ferdousi never sang like that,
Nor Saadi grave, nor Hafiz gay;
I lounge, and blow white rings of smoke,
And watch them rise and float away.


II.

The curling wreaths like turbans seem
Of silent slaves that come and go,--
Or Viziers, packed with craft and crime,
Whom I behead from time to time,
With pipe-stem, at a single blow.
And now and then a lingering cloud
Takes gracious form at my desire,
And at my side my lady stands,
Unwinds her veil with snowy hands,--
A shadowy shape, a breath of fire!

O Love, if you were only here
Beside me in this mellow light,
Though all the bitter winds should blow,
And all the ways be choked with snow,
'Twould be a true Arabian night!

T.B. ALDRICH.




Next: MY AFTER-DINNER CLOUD.

Previous: 'TWAS OFF THE BLUE CANARIES.



Add to Informational Site Network
Report
Privacy
ADD TO EBOOK


Viewed 4497