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Smoking Poems

Meerschaum.
Come to me, O my meerschaum, For the vile street organ...

On A Broken Pipe.
Neglected now it lies, a cold clay form, So late with ...

The Farmer's Pipe.
Make a picture, dreamy smoke, In my still and cosey ...

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

To My Cigar.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doc...

Sweet Smoking Pipe.
Sweet smoking pipe; bright glowing stove, Companion ...

The Smoke Traveller.
When I puff my cigarette, Straight I see a Spanish g...

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

The Smoker's Calendar.
When January's cold appears, A glowing pipe my spirit ...

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

A Valentine.
What's my love's name? Guess her name. Nina? No....

To C.f. Bradford.
_ON THE GIFT OF A MEERSCHAUM PIPE._ The pipe came safe...

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

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

On A Tobacco Jar.
Three hundred years ago or soe, One worthy knight an...

Tobacco.
The Indian weed, withered quite, Green at noon, cut do...

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

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

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

With Pipe And Book.
With Pipe and Book at close of day, Oh, what is sweete...



EDIFYING REFLECTIONS OF A TOBACCO-SMOKER.








_SET TO MUSIC BY JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. TRANSLATED BY
EDWARD BRECK._



As oft I fill my faithful pipe,
To while away the moments glad,
With fragrant leaves, so rich and ripe,
My mind perceives an image sad,
So that I can but clearly see
How very like it is to me.

My pipe is made of earth and clay,
From which my mortal part is wrought;
I, too, must turn to earth some day.
It often falls, as quick as thought,
And breaks in two,--puts out its flame;
My fate, alas! is but the same!

My pipe I color not, nor paint;
White it remains, and hence 'tis true
That, when in Death's cold arms I faint,
My lips shall wear the ashen hue;
And as it blackens day by day,
So black the grave shall turn my clay!

And when the pipe is put alight
The smoke ascends, then trembles, wanes,
And soon dissolves in sunshine bright,
And but the whitened ash remains.
'Tis so man's glory crumble must,
E'en as his body, into dust!

How oft the filler is mislaid;
And, rather than to seek in vain,
I use my finger in its stead,
And fancy as I feel the pain,
If coals can burn to such degree,
How hot, O Lord, must Hades be!

So in tobacco oft I find,
Lessons of such instructive type;
And hence with calm, contented mind
I live, and smoke my faithful pipe
In reverence where'er I roam,--
On land, on water, and at home.





Next: THE LOST LOTUS.

Previous: INGIN SUMMER.



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