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...VARIATIONS ON A THEME: ROMANCE by EDITH SITWELL A BIRTHDAY by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE FALLOW DEER AT THE LONELY HOUSE by THOMAS HARDY DOCTOR FELL by MARCUS VALERIUS MARTIALIS BALLAD: THE THINGS OF NO ACCOUNT by FRANCOIS VILLON WATER WOMAN by JOSEPH AUSLANDER |