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JESSAMINE.
  
  
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32

JESSAMINE.

AN ARAB POEM.

THE secret mystery of the Jessamine
Sung by an Arab poet long ago,
Azzodmo'l Moccádesi the sage,
Among the voices of the Morning Land.
Jas in the Arab language is despair,
And Min the darkest meaning of a lie.
Thus cried the Jessamine among the flowers,
‘How justly doth a lie
Draw on its head despair!
Among the fragrant spirits of the bowers
The boldest and the strongest still was I.
Although so fair,
Therefore from Heaven
A stronger perfume unto me was given
Than any blossom of the summer hours.
“And there is nothing unto me so sweet
As to be borne from loving friend to friend
When minutes chase the minutes ever fleet,
And the beginning seems too near the end.
Then I cast all my secret treasure forth,
And she who puts me in her bosom finds,
The warmer place she gives, the better worth,
The odour sweeter than the summer winds,
Bestowed by me upon each pleasant breast
Between the pillows where I had my rest.

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‘Where'er I go I make my secret known
And cast my sweet aroma all around,
And the most delicate and gifted own
That in my breath a fresher life is found.
But chiefly I delight
When anxious passion wakened to a glow
By my seductive fragrance flames to fire,
And eyes meet eyes and souls each other know,
Even to rapture all ineffable
Which nothing knew before,
And lips to lips are given
As souls in heaven
They—go—
To bliss
And in one long sweet passionate gasp expire!
‘Among the flowers no perfume is like mine;
That which is best in me comes from within.
So those who in this life would rise and shine
Should seek internal excellence to win.
And though 'tis true that falsehood and despair
Meet in my name, yet bear it still in mind
That where they meet they perish. All is fair
When they are gone, and nought remains behind.’