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Smoking Poems

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

Smoking Spiritualized.
The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently...

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

The Farmer's Pipe.
Make a picture, dreamy smoke, In my still and cosey ...

Cigarette Rings.
How it blows! How it rains! I'll not turn out to-night; ...

The Scent Of A Good Cigar.
What is it comes through the deepening dusk,-- Somethi...

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

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

The Betrothed.
"_YOU MUST CHOOSE BETWEEN ME AND YOUR CIGAR._" Open the ...

Ad Nicotina.
"_A CONSTRAINED HYPERBOLE._" Let others sing the prais...

To My Cigar.
The warmth of thy glow, Well-lighted cigar, Makes h...

Cigars And Beer.
Here With my beer I sit, While g...

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

Latakia.
I. When all the panes are hung with frost, Wild wiz...

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

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

Smoke Is The Food Of Lovers.
When Cupid open'd shop, the trade he chose Was just th...

The Pipe Critic.
Say, pipe, let's talk of love; Canst aid me?...

An Ode Of Thanks For Certain Cigars.
_TO CHARLES ELIOT NORTON._ Luck, my dear Norton, still...

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



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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