A Scottish tourist attended his first baseball game in the US and after a base hit he hears the fans roaring "Run....Run!" The next batter connects heavily with the ball and the Scotsman stands up and roars with the crowd in his thick accent: "R-r-... Read more of Scotsman at a baseball game at Free Jokes.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

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

If I Were King.
If I were king, my pipe should be premier. The skies o...

Knickerbocker.
Shade of Herrick, Muse of Locker, Help me sing of Knic...

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

Envoi.
Smokers, who doubt or con or pro, And ye who dare to...

My Friendly Pipe.
Let sybarites still dream delights While smoking cig...

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

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

In Rotten Row.
In Rotten Row a cigarette I sat and smoked, with no re...

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

The Smoker's Calendar.
When January's cold appears, A glowing pipe my spirit ...

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

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

To An Old Pipe.
Once your smoothly polished face Nestled lightly in a ...

An Ode Of Thanks For Certain Cigars.
_TO CHARLES ELIOT NORTON._ Luck, my dear Norton, still...

The Farmer's Pipe.
Make a picture, dreamy smoke, In my still and cosey ...

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

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

Virginia's Kingly Plant.
_BY AN "OLD SALT."_ Oh, muse! grant me the power (I...

My Meerschaum Pipe.
Old meerschaum pipe, I'll fondly wipe Thy scarred an...



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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