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?
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: 176