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Smoking Poems

It May Be Weeds.
It may be weeds I've gathered too; But even weeds...

The True Leucothoe.
Let others praise the god of wine, Or Venus, love, a...

Another Match.
_AFTER A.C. SWINBURNE._ If love were dhudeen olden, ...

To My Meerschaum.
There's a charm in the sun-crested hills, In the qui...

Acrostic.
To thee, blest weed, whose sovereign wiles, O'er cankere...

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

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

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the toper regale in his tankard of ale, Or with ...

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

Tobacco.
The Indian weed, withered quite, Green at noon, cut do...

Motto For A Tobacco Jar.
Come! don't refuse sweet Nicotina's aid, But woo the...

Pernicious Weed!
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, Makes half a s...

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

The Smoke Traveller.
When I puff my cigarette, Straight I see a Spanish g...

A Warning.
HE. I loathe all books. I hate to see The world a...

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

A Song Without A Name.
AIR: "_THE VICAR OF BRAY_." 'Twas in Queen Bess's gold...

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...

To C.f. Bradford.
_ON THE GIFT OF A MEERSCHAUM PIPE._ The pipe came safe...

What I Like.
To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream, Upon the ...



LATAKIA.








I.

When all the panes are hung with frost,
Wild wizard-work of silver lace,
I draw my sofa on the rug,
Before the ancient chimney-place.
Upon the painted tiles are mosques
And minarets, and here and there
A blind muezzin lifts his hands,
And calls the faithful unto prayer.
Folded in idle, twilight dreams,
I hear the hemlock chirp and sing,
As if within its ruddy core
It held the happy heart of Spring.
Ferdousi never sang like that,
Nor Saadi grave, nor Hafiz gay;
I lounge, and blow white rings of smoke,
And watch them rise and float away.


II.

The curling wreaths like turbans seem
Of silent slaves that come and go,--
Or Viziers, packed with craft and crime,
Whom I behead from time to time,
With pipe-stem, at a single blow.
And now and then a lingering cloud
Takes gracious form at my desire,
And at my side my lady stands,
Unwinds her veil with snowy hands,--
A shadowy shape, a breath of fire!

O Love, if you were only here
Beside me in this mellow light,
Though all the bitter winds should blow,
And all the ways be choked with snow,
'Twould be a true Arabian night!

T.B. ALDRICH.





Next: MY AFTER-DINNER CLOUD.

Previous: 'TWAS OFF THE BLUE CANARIES.



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