AUGUST
Drowsing o'er my sainted briar,
Dreaming dreams of Heart's Desire,
Dreaming 'neath the August sun,
Thus my meditations run—
What if that great Ember bright
Were a monster Pipe alight,
Or the glowing from afar
Of some Fire-God's cigar?
If the Smoker's Peace abide
In that sun fire, multiplied
By its vastness, I will be
Henceforth a devout Parsee.
