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

My Meerschaums.
Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved, High...

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

Epitaph
_ON A YOUNG LADY WHO DESIRED THAT TOBACCO MIGHT BE PLANTED OV...

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

It May Be Weeds.
It may be weeds I've gathered too; But even weeds...

A Brief Puff Of Smoke.
Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig, Ne'er deemed the ...

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

The Scent Of A Good Cigar.
What is it comes through the deepening dusk,-- Somethi...

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Pot, And A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Some praise taking snuff; And 'tis pleasant en...

The Happy Smoking-ground.
When that last pipe is smoked at last And pouch and ...

Sic Transit.
Just a note that I found on my table, By the bills of ...

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

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

He Respondeth.
SHE. You still persist in using, I observe with g...



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.



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 3591