XLV



Belovèd, smoke my amber Pipe awhile
And from its Bowl narcotic Joys beguile,
Suck Lethe from its Stem - what though I trace
A certain greenish Pallour in your Smile?



XLVI



Strange is it not that, oft her Dolour cloaking
In hurried Puffs with Nonchalance provoking,
No woman reads that apodictic Ode
"How to be Happy Even Though You're Smoking?"



XLVII



Look not so wild, the Fit will pass away -