POETRY OF SMOKE. 55 



MY CIGARETTE. 



MY CIGARETTE ! The amulet 



That charms afar unrest and sorrow, 

 The magic wand that, far beyond 



To-day, can conjure up to-morrow. 

 Like love's desire, thy crown of fire 



So softly with the twilight blending ; 

 And ah ! meseems a poet's dreams 

 Are in thy wreaths of smoke ascending. 



My cigarette ! Can I forget 



How Kate and I, in sunny weather, 

 Sat in the shade the elm-tree made 



And rolled the fragrant weed together? 

 I at her side, beatified, 



To hold and guide her fingers willing ; 

 She rolling slow the paper's snow, 



Putting my heart in with the filling. 



My cigarette ! I see her yet, 



The white smoke from her red lips curling 

 Her dreaming eyes, her soft replies, 



Her gentle sighs, her laughter purling i 

 Ah, dainty roll, whose parting soul 



Ebbs out in many a snowy billow ; 

 I, too, would burn, if I could earn 



Upon her lips, so soft a pillow. 



Ah, cigarette ! The gay coquette 

 Has long forgot the flame she lighted; 



