Iii

I lean back, in my own boudoir-- The door is fast, the sash ajar;

And in the dark, I smiling stare At one wide window over there,

Where some one, smoking, pinks the gloom, The darling darkness of his room!

I push my shutters wider yet, And lo! I light a cigarette;

And gleam for gleam, and glow for glow, Each pulse of light a word we know,

We talk of love that still will burn While cigarettes to ashes turn.