TOBACCO'S but an Indian weed, Grows green at morn, cut down at eve, It shows our decay, we are but clay: Think of this when you smoke tobacco. The pipe that is so lily-white, Wherein so many take delight, Is broke with a touch—man's life is such: Think of this when you smoke tobacco. The ashes that are left behind Do serve to put us all in mind That unto dust return we must: Think of this when you smoke tobacco. The smoke that does so high ascend, Doth shew man's life must have an end, The vapour's gone—man's life is done: Think of this when you smoke some tobacco. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN ODE TO THE FRAMERS OF THE FRAME BILL by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE TWELVE-FORTY-FIVE (FOR EDWARD J. WHEELER) by ALFRED JOYCE KILMER HOUSEHOLD POEMS: 1. BRONWEN by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS AS IN THE BEGINNING by PATRICK REGINALD CHALMERS THE OFFERING by ANITA GRAY CHANDLER NIGHT by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE |