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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

A Good Cigar.
Oh, 'tis well and enough, A whiff or a puff From th...

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

How It Once Was.
Right stout and strong the worthy burghers stood, ...

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

Chibouque.
At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan, The pacha in his pala...

An Encomium On Tobacco.
Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight, And...

Pipes And Beer.
Before I was famous I used to sit In a dull old unde...

The Ballade Of Tobacco.
When verdant youth sees life afar, And first sets ou...

Titlepage Dedication.
"Let those smoke now who never smoked before, And those ...

A Bachelor's Soliloquy.
I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire, I ne'er kn...

The Old Clay Pipe.
There's a lot of solid comfort In an old clay pipe, ...

My Cigarette.
_WORDS AND MUSIC BY RICHARD BARNARD_. To my sweet ciga...

Epitaph
_ON A YOUNG LADY WHO DESIRED THAT TOBACCO MIGHT BE PLANTED OV...

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

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

Inscription For A Tobacco Jar.
Keep me at hand; and as my fumes arise, You'll find _a...

On A Tobacco Jar.
Three hundred years ago or soe, One worthy knight an...



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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