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Smoking Poems

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

Ingin Summer.
Jest about the time when Fall Gits to rattlin' in th...

Smoking Spiritualized.
The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently...

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

Pernicious Weed!
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, Makes half a s...

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

Smoke And Chess.
We were sitting at chess as the sun went down; And he,...

My Cigarette.
_WORDS AND MUSIC BY RICHARD BARNARD_. To my sweet ciga...

Smoking Song.
With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl, As mist ...

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

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

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

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

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

The Smoker's Reverie.
(_OCTOBER._) I'm sitting at dusk 'neath the old beeche...

Cigars And Beer.
Here With my beer I sit, While g...

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

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

Geordie To His Tobacco-pipe.
Good pipe, old friend, old black and colored friend, W...

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



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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