The rare Habanas in their box,
or gaunt churchwarden-stem
That often wags, above the jar,
derisively at them.
As one who cons at evening
o'er an album, all alone,
And muses on the faces
of the friends that he has known,
So I turn the leaves of Fancy,
till, in shadowy design,
I find the smiling features of
an old sweetheart of mine.
The lamplight seems to glimmer
with a flicker of surprise,
As I turn it low—to rest me
of the dazzle in my eyes,
And light my pipe in silence,
save a sigh that seems to yoke
Its fate with my tobacco
and to vanish with the smoke.
'Tis a fragrant retrospection,—
for the loving thoughts that start
Into being are like perfume
from the blossom of the heart;
And to dream the old dreams over
is a luxury divine—
When my truant fancies wander
with that old sweetheart of mine.