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Smoking Poems

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

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

My Cigar.
In spite of my physician, who is, _entre nous_, a fogy, ...

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

Motto For A Tobacco Jar.
Come! don't refuse sweet Nicotina's aid, But woo the...

Confession Of A Cigar Smoker.
I owe to smoking, more or less, Through life the whole...

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

A Warning.
HE. I loathe all books. I hate to see The world a...

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

Geordie To His Tobacco-pipe.
Good pipe, old friend, old black and colored friend, W...

A Bachelor's Views.
A pipe, a book, A cosy nook, A fire,--at least ...

The Smoker's Reverie.
(_OCTOBER._) I'm sitting at dusk 'neath the old beeche...

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

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

My Pipe.
When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me; When fr...

The Cigar.
Some sigh for this and that, My wishes don't go far;...

To My Meerschaum.
There's a charm in the sun-crested hills, In the qui...

'twas Off The Blue Canaries.
'Twas off the blue Canary isles, A glorious summer d...

Virginia's Kingly Plant.
_BY AN "OLD SALT."_ Oh, muse! grant me the power (I...

In Rotten Row.
In Rotten Row a cigarette I sat and smoked, with no re...



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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