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Smoking Poems

With Pipe And Book.
With Pipe and Book at close of day, Oh, what is sweete...

Pernicious Weed!
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, Makes half a s...

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

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

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

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

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

An Encomium On Tobacco.
Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight, And...

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

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

Ode To Tobacco.
Come then, Tobacco, new-found friend, Come, and thy ...

To The Tobacco Pipe.
Dear piece of fascinating clay! 'Tis thine to smooth l...

Seasonable Sweets.
"_DON'T BE FLOWERY, JACOB._"--CHARLES DICKENS. When th...

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

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

On A Broken Pipe.
Neglected now it lies, a cold clay form, So late with ...

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

The Ballade Of Tobacco.
When verdant youth sees life afar, And first sets ou...

In Wreaths Of Smoke.
In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise, Faces of o...

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



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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