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Smoking Poems

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

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the learned talk of books, The glutton...

"a Free Puff."
Do you remember when first we met? I was turning twent...

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

A Valentine.
What's my love's name? Guess her name. Nina? No....

Ode To Tobacco.
Come then, Tobacco, new-found friend, Come, and thy ...

Maecenas Bids His Friend To Dine.
I beg you come to-night and dine. A welcome waits you, a...

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

Too Great A Sacrifice.
The maid, as by the papers doth appear, Whom fifty tho...

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

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

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

Sweet Smoking Pipe.
Sweet smoking pipe; bright glowing stove, Companion ...

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

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

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

Virginia Tobacco.
Two maiden dames of sixty-two Together long had dwel...

Her Brother's Cigarette.
Like raven's wings her locks of jet, Her soft eyes tou...

Tobacco.
Let poets rhyme of what they will, Youth, Beauty, Love...

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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