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Smoking Poems

A Symphony In Smoke.
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet, Who likes to muse and ...

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

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

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

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

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

A Valentine.
What's my love's name? Guess her name. Nina? No....

A Good Cigar.
Oh, 'tis well and enough, A whiff or a puff From th...

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

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

My Meerschaums.
Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved, High...

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

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

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

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

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

The True Leucothoe.
Let others praise the god of wine, Or Venus, love, a...

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

The Smoker's Calendar.
When January's cold appears, A glowing pipe my spirit ...

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



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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