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Smoking Poems

Ingin Summer.
Jest about the time when Fall Gits to rattlin' in th...

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

In Favor Of Tobacco.
Much victuals serves for gluttony To fatten men like s...

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

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

My Little Brown Pipe.
I have a little comforter, I carry in my pocket: ...

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

Choosing A Wife By A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Tube, I love thee as my life; By thee I mean to choose...

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

The Dreamer's Pipe.
Meerschaum, thing with amber tip, Clutched between the...

Smoking Song.
With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl, As mist ...

He Respondeth.
SHE. You still persist in using, I observe with g...

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

"a Free Puff."
Do you remember when first we met? I was turning twent...

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

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

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

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

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

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