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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

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

Smoking Away.
Floating away like the fountains' spray, Or the snow...

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

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

In The Ol' Tobacker Patch.
I jess kind o' feel so lonesome that I don't know what to...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To My Cigar.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doc...



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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