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Smoking Poems

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

The Pipe You Make Yourself.
There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum pipes a...

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

A Winter Evening Hymn To My Fire.
Nicotia, dearer to the Muse Than all the grape's bewil...

A Loss.
How hard a thing it is to part From those we love an...

The Ballad Of The Pipe.
Oh, give me but Virginia's weed, An earthen bowl, a st...

A Farewell To Tobacco.
May the Babylonish curse Straight confound my stammeri...

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

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

Tobacco.
The Indian weed, withered quite, Green at noon, cut do...

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

Smoking Away.
Floating away like the fountains' spray, Or the snow...

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

Chibouque.
At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan, The pacha in his pala...

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

Sublime Tobacco.
But here the herald of the self-same mouth Came breath...

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

"keats Took Snuff."
"Keats took snuff.... It has been established by the ...

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

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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