While working on a sermon the pastor heard a knock at his office door. "Come in," he invited. A sad-looking man in threadbare clothes came in, pulling a large pig on a rope. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" asked the ma... Read more of Desert Island, Roosters Etc. Humor at Free Jokes.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

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

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

A Symphony In Smoke.
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet, Who likes to muse and ...

My Three Loves.
When Life was all a summer day, And I was under twenty...

Henry Fielding.
Friend of my youth, companion of my later days. Wh...

To The Tobacco Pipe.
Dear piece of fascinating clay! 'Tis thine to smooth l...

Ashes.
Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown, Alone I puff my brie...

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...

Clouds.
Mortals say their heart is light When the clouds aroun...

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

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

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

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

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

Edifying Reflections Of A Tobacco-smoker.
_SET TO MUSIC BY JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. TRANS...

My Cigarette.
Ma pauvre petite, My little sweet, Why do you cry...

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

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

Too Great A Sacrifice.
The maid, as by the papers doth appear, Whom fifty tho...

In Wreaths Of Smoke.
In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise, Faces of o...



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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