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by Arlo Bates (1850 - 1918)

The Jasmine
Language: English 
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? 

Text Authorship:

  • by Arlo Bates (1850 - 1918), "The Jasmine", appears in The Poet and His Self, in A Flower Cycle, no. 10, first published 1892 [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):

  • by George Whitefield Chadwick (1854 - 1931), "The Jasmine", 1892 [ voice and piano ], from A Flower Cycle, no. 11 [sung text checked 1 time]

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2009-06-17
Line count: 30
Word count: 169

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