Informational Site NetworkInformational Site Network
Privacy
 
   Home - Smoking Articles - History of Smoking - Poems about Smoking - Giving up Alcohol

Smoking Poems

Tobacco Is An Indian Weed.
Tobacco's but an Indian weed, Grows green at morn, cut...

"keats Took Snuff."
"Keats took snuff.... It has been established by the ...

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

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

Cannon Song.
Come, seniors, come, and fill your pipes, Your richest...

Two Other Hearts.
Full tender beamed the light of love down from his manl...

The Patriotic Smoker's Lament.
Tell me, shade of Walter Raleigh, Briton of the true...

Ode To My Pipe.
O Blessed pipe, That now I clutch within my gripe, ...

Edifying Reflections Of A Tobacco-smoker.
_SET TO MUSIC BY JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. TRANS...

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

Confession Of A Cigar Smoker.
I owe to smoking, more or less, Through life the whole...

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

To See Her Pipe Awry.
Betty bouncer kept a stall At the corner of a street...

My Little Brown Pipe.
I have a little comforter, I carry in my pocket: ...

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

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

A Symphony In Smoke.
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet, Who likes to muse and ...

Seasonable Sweets.
"_DON'T BE FLOWERY, JACOB._"--CHARLES DICKENS. When th...

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

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



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 2538