The Jasmine

The soft, warm night wind flutters

Up from the dim lagoon,

While the timorous shadows hide them

From the red new-risen moon;

The scent of the jasmine lingers

Like a languorous pain divine,

Till the night-moth reels in its fragrance,

Drunken as if with wine.

Oh, jasmine fair;

Oh, southern night most rare!

The warm air beats with passion

As some hot bosom throbs,

While an amorous night-bird murmurs,

As its bliss found vent in sobs;

The breath of the jasmine pulses,

It comes and goes on the wind;

Could one climb o'er its lattice

What bliss might he not find!

Oh, jasmine blest;

What dreams of cradled rest!

A spark from the casement flickers,

And touches the jasmine's bloom,

Till the blossoms glow like star gems

As they gleam in the fragrant gloom.

I know not what breath from their chalice

Has 'stirred my soul like wine,

Till I reel like the drunken night-moth

With love's keen pain divine.

Oh, jasmine sweet,

Why speeds the night so fleet?