Tobacco smoke drifts up to the dim ceiling From half a dozen pipes and cigarettes, Curling in endless shapes, in blue rings wheeling, As formless as our talk. Phil, drawling, bets Cornell will win the relay in a walk, While Bob and Mac discuss the Giants' chances; Deep in a morris-chair, Bill scowls at "Falk", John gives large views about the last few dances. And so it goes -- an idle speech and aimless, A few chance phrases; yet I see behind The empty words the gleam of a beauty tameless, Friendship and peace and fire to strike men blind, Till the whole world seems small and bright to hold -- Of all our youth this hour is pure gold. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...COSMOPOLITE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON WOODNOTES: 2 by RALPH WALDO EMERSON BEN BOLT by THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH THE FAIRY THORN; AN ULSTER BALLAD by SAMUEL FERGUSON THE SLAVE AUCTION by FRANCES ELLEN WATKINS HARPER IN HOSPITAL: 4. BEFORE by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY |