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Smoking Poems

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

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

Cigarette Rings.
How it blows! How it rains! I'll not turn out to-night; ...

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

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

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...

Those Ashes.
Up to the frescoed ceiling The smoke of my cigarette...

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

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

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

Virginia Tobacco.
Two maiden dames of sixty-two Together long had dwel...

Choosing A Wife By A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Tube, I love thee as my life; By thee I mean to choose...

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

Titlepage Dedication.
"Let those smoke now who never smoked before, And those ...

To My Meerschaum.
There's a charm in the sun-crested hills, In the qui...

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

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...

The Latest Convert.
I've been in love some scores of times, With Amy, Ne...

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



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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