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Smoking Poems

The Last Pipe.
When head is sick and brain doth swim, And heavy hangs...

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

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

Ode To My Pipe.
O Blessed pipe, That now I clutch within my gripe, ...

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...

Virginia Tobacco.
Two maiden dames of sixty-two Together long had dwel...

Maecenas Bids His Friend To Dine.
I beg you come to-night and dine. A welcome waits you, a...

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

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

Wrongfellow.
I like cigars Beneath the stars, Upon the water...

Ode To Tobacco.
Thou, who when fears attack Bidst them avaunt, and Bla...

The Patriotic Smoker's Lament.
Tell me, shade of Walter Raleigh, Briton of the true...

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

My Cigarette.
My cigarette! The amulet That charms afar unrest and...

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

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

To See Her Pipe Awry.
Betty bouncer kept a stall At the corner of a street...

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

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

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



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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