56 POETRY OF SMOKE. 



And you, as I, unthinking by, 

 Alike are thrown, alike are slighted. 



The darkness gathers fast without, 

 A raindrop on my window plashes ; 



My cigarette and heart are out, 

 And naught is left me but the ashes. 



CHARLES F. LUMMP 



THOSE ASHES. 



UP to the frescoed ceiling 



The smoke of my cigarette 

 In a sinuous spray is reeling, 



Forming flower and minaret. 



What delicious landscape floating 



On perfumed wings I see ; 

 Pale swans I am idly noting, 



And queens robed in filigree. 



I see such delicious faces 



As ne'er man saw before, 

 And my fancy fondly chases 



Sweet maids on a fairy shore. 



Now to bits my air-castle crashes, 

 And those pictures I see no more; 



My grandmother yells : " Them ashes 

 Don't drop them on the floor ! " 



R. K. MUNKITTRXCK- 



