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

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

To See Her Pipe Awry.
Betty bouncer kept a stall At the corner of a street...

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

The Dreamer's Pipe.
Meerschaum, thing with amber tip, Clutched between the...

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

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

The Pipe You Make Yourself.
There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum pipes a...

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

Pipe And Tobacco.
When my pipe burns bright and clear, The gods I need n...

A Warning.
HE. I loathe all books. I hate to see The world a...

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

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

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

In Favor Of Tobacco.
Much victuals serves for gluttony To fatten men like s...

Henry Fielding.
Friend of my youth, companion of my later days. Wh...

If I Were King.
If I were king, my pipe should be premier. The skies o...

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

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
'Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,-- Or p'raps a ...

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

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



MY PIPE AND I.








There may be comrades in this world,
As stanch and true as steel.
There are: and by their friendships firm
Is life made only real.
But, after all, of all these hearts
That close with mine entwine,
None lie so near, nor seem so dear
As this old pipe of mine.

My silent friend--whose voice is held
Fast for my ear alone--
Stays with me always, well content,
With Darby to be Joan.
No fickleness disturbs our lot;
No jars its peace to smother;
Ah, no; my faithful pipe and I
Have wooed and won--each other.

On clouds of curling incense sweet,
We go--my pipe and I--
To lands far off, where skies stay blue
Through all the years that fly.
And nights and days, with rosy dreams
Teems bright--an endless throng
That passing leave, in echoing wake,
Soft murmurings of song.

Does this dream fade? Another comes
To fill its place and more.
In castles silvern roam we now,
They're ours! All! All are ours!
What'er the wreathing rings enfold
Drops shimmering golden showers!

No sordid cost our steps can stay,
We travel free as air.
Our wings are fancies, incense-borne,
That feather-light upbear.
Begone! ye powers of steam and flood.
Thy roads creep far too slow;
We need thee not. My pipe and I
Swifter than Time must go.

Why, what is this? The pipe gone out?
Well, well, the fire's out, too!
The dreams are gone--we're poor once more;
Life's pain begins anew.
'Tis time for sleep, my faithful pipe,
But may thy dreamings be,
Through slumbering hours hued as bright
As those thou gav'st to me!

ELTON J. BUCKLEY.




Next: SIC TRANSIT.

Previous: A WINTER EVENING HYMN TO MY FIRE.



Add to Informational Site Network
Report
Privacy
ADD TO EBOOK


Viewed 4338