Omarism

With pen in hand and pipe in mouth,     And claret iced to quench my drouth,     I sit upon my balcony     That overlooks the sparkling sea,     Serenly gay, and cool, and bland     With pipe in mouth and pen in hand.     This life I think is beautiful,     When at the jug I take a pull.     The harbor shines like azure silk;     The claret tastes like mother's milk;     Then to the pipe I turn again     And then I trifle with the pen.     The red-faced neighbors townward go;     The air is in a furnace glow.     I watch them scorching as they pass,     Like flies beneath a burning glass     Each clutching at the red-hot hour     For coin; their folly turns me sour.     The Business Man may fret and sweat     In his black coat, for etiquette,     And grow in shop and office old,     And gather wrinkles with his gold     I sit in shirt-sleeves cool and bland,     With pipe in mouth and pen in hand.     The white clouds - idle they as I     Like dreaming gods, at leisure lie     Upon the hill-crests. Smoke upcurls     From chimneys lazily, and girls     Below me, with bare, brown arms fine,     Are pegging linen on a line.     The great ships, from the world outside,     Steam slowly in with stately pride,     Their giant screws now gently spin;     'Tis good to watch them gliding in     From East, and West, and North, and South,     With jug in hand and pipe in mouth.     These visions fill me with content,     And I remember not the rent.     When with cool breezes comes the night     It will be time enough to write.     Then you shall see me start the band     With pipe in mouth and pen in hand.