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JASMINE


Your scent is in the room.
Swiftly it overwhelms and conquers me!
Jasmine, night jasmine, perfect
of perfume,
Heavy with dew before the
dawn of day!
Your face was in the mirror. I could see
You smile and vanish suddenly away,
Leaving behind the vestige of a tear.
Sad suffering face, from parting
grown so dear!


Night jasmine cannot bloom
in this cold place;
Without the street is wet
and weird with snow;
The cold nude trees are
tossing to and fro;


Too stormy is the night for your fond face;
For your low voice too loud
the wind's mad roar.
But oh, your scent is
here-jasmines that grow
Luxuriant, clustered round
your cottage door!

Written by Claude McKay (1891-1948)

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