A SYMPHONY IN SMOKE.





A pretty, piquant, pouting pet,

Who likes to muse and take her ease,

She loves to smoke a cigarette;



To dream in silken hammockette,

And sing and swing beneath the trees,

A pretty, piquant, pouting pet.



Her Christian name is Violet;

Her eyes are blue as summer skies;

She loves to smoke a cigarette.



As calm as babe in bassinette,

She swingeth in the summer breeze,

A pretty, piquant, pouting pet.



She ponders o'er a novelette;

Her parasol is Japanese;

She loves to smoke a cigarette.



She loves a fume without a fret;

Her frills are white, her frock _cerise_,--

A pretty, pouting, piquant pet.



She almost goes to sleep, and yet,

Half-lulled by booming honey-bees,

She loves to smoke a cigarette.



A winsome, clever, cool coquette,

Who flouts all Grundian decrees,--

pretty, pouting, piquant pet,

That loves to smoke a cigarette.



_Harper's Bazaar_.





A SONG WITHOUT A NAME. A VALENTINE. facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedinmail

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