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...SPRINGTIDE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE BLACK MAMMY by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON MARJORIE'S WOOING by EMMA LAZARUS THE ROAD TO AVIGNON by AMY LOWELL SLEEPING TOGETHER by KATHERINE MANSFIELD CANTICLE OF THE RACE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS CHARLOTTE CORDAY (REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL, JULY 17, 1793) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |