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?