Tobacco smoke drifts up to the dim ceiling <br />From half a dozen pipes and cigarettes, <br />Curling in endless shapes, in blue rings wheeling, <br />As formless as our talk. Phil, drawling, bets <br />Cornell will win the relay in a walk, <br />While Bob and Mac discuss the Giants' chances; <br />Deep in a morris-chair, Bill scowls at 'Falk', <br />John gives large views about the last few dances. <br /> <br />And so it goes - an idle speech and aimless, <br />A few chance phrases; yet I see behind <br />The empty words the gleam of a beauty tameless, <br />Friendship and peace and fire to strike men blind, <br />Till the whole world seems small and bright to hold - <br />Of all our youth this hour is pure gold.<br /><br />Stephen Vincent Benet<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/campus-sonnets-talk/
