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A poem by James Whitcomb Riley |
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While Cigarettes To Ashes Turn |
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Title: While Cigarettes To Ashes Turn Author: James Whitcomb Riley [More Titles by Riley] I "He smokes--and that's enough," says Ma-- "He must not call again," says she-- They both glare at me as before-- While I, their wilful daughter, say,
At twilight, in his room, alone, Across a chair, my fancy can I dream what joy it is to set With idle-humored whiff and puff-- To mark the slender fingers raise Whose chastened light an instant glows Then, in the sudden gloom, instead, Blooms languidly to ripeness, then
I lean back, in my own boudoir-- And in the dark, I smiling stare Where some one, smoking, pinks the gloom, I push my shutters wider yet, And gleam for gleam, and glow for glow, We talk of love that still will burn [The end] GO TO TOP OF SCREEN |