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Smoking Poems

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

Smoke Is The Food Of Lovers.
When Cupid open'd shop, the trade he chose Was just th...

She.
The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint! Around my pretty...

My Three Loves.
When Life was all a summer day, And I was under twenty...

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

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

A Loss.
How hard a thing it is to part From those we love an...

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

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

Invocation To Tobacco.
Weed of the strange flower, weed of the earth, Killer ...

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

Ad Nicotina.
"_A CONSTRAINED HYPERBOLE._" Let others sing the prais...

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

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

On Receipt Of A Rare Pipe.
I lifted off the lid with anxious care, Removed the ...

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

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

An Old Sweetheart Of Mine.
As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, An...

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

The Last Pipe.
When head is sick and brain doth swim, And heavy hangs...



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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