A JESSAMINE FLOWER.INSCRIBED TO MY SISTER "MADGE."
Only a soft, white jessamine flower With its pressed leaves pale and fair,Bringing to me from my dear old home A breath of its fragrant air.
It comes like the touch of a spirit hand Bathing my heart in its bloom,Rousing the memories laid to rest In their coldly quiet tomb.
Ah! well I remember the spot where it grew, And opened its petals of snow—'T is draping and wreathing the white column still, As it did in the days long ago.
I stood in its shade on that clear June night, With its white flowers blooming above;My young heart aglow in my cheeks as it played The first fairy prelude of love.
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