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Smoking Poems

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

Pipe And Tobacco.
When my pipe burns bright and clear, The gods I need n...

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

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

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

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

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

To My Cigar.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doc...

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

Old Pipe Of Mine.
Companion of my lonely hours, Full many a time 'twix...

To The Rev. Mr. Newton.
Says the Pipe to the Snuff-box, "I can't understand ...

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

An Old Sweetheart Of Mine.
As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, An...

Meerschaum.
Come to me, O my meerschaum, For the vile street organ...

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

Knickerbocker.
Shade of Herrick, Muse of Locker, Help me sing of Knic...

My Meerschaum Pipe.
Old meerschaum pipe, I'll fondly wipe Thy scarred an...

To An Old Pipe.
Once your smoothly polished face Nestled lightly in a ...

My After-dinner Cloud.
Some sombre evening, when I sit And feed in solitude...

The Duet.
I was smoking a cigarette; Maud, my wife, and the te...



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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