Cape Jessamines“Cape jessamines! Remove them from my sight!I can not bear that odor, cloying sweet,That hangs about them like a heavy sigh.They bring back to my memory haunting daysOf deep regret, and open all my wounds again.Fair, dream-like flower, that in this Southern townWithin the dark green copses of thy birthHangeth faint and heavy with thine own sweet breath,To me ye are a mockery, and your odor foul.Come, sit thee down, Rinaldo, I will tell thee all.Knewest thou fair Rosamond, the Houston belle,Who years ago, like some fair Lorelei of oldUpon the hearts of all our gallants set her feet?I loved her madly and I swore to winHer from the suing courtiers in her train.Alas! Rinaldo—this sudden faintness—quick—some wine!Ah! thanks, it gives me strength to tell the tale.For years I have not been myself. Since oneSad night that in my mem’ry burns white-hotLike some sad bark that washes, derelictWithin the trough of sullen alien tides,I’ve drifted down the mournful muttering seas;But at the smell of jessamines, my brainQuick strikes those aching chords of old,And all the latest agony revives.It grasps me now—more wine, Rinaldo—thanks;I’m better now. ’Twas on one summer’s nightI stood with Rosamond to count the stars.With downcast eyes and softly heaving breast,She pledged a kiss for every star that fell.My pretty, sweet, shy dove. Methinks they fellToo seldom till, anon, some frolic boysSent up a sky rocket, and when it burstUpon her lips I pressed full seventeen.But—peace! I wander from my theme.At last my love o’erpowered, and I spakeIn thrilling tones, and wooed her there.What clogs my heart? More wine, Rinaldo, quick!Oh, then she fastened on me those dark orbs,In them illimitable sadness, and such storeOf pity that her face angelic seemed.More wine, Rinaldo—thanks. I’m better now.The while the garden there was heavy withThe odor of cape jessamines, and pinnedUpon her breast a cluster of them lay.And in her hair some snowy buds were twined;Almost oppressive was the odor of the flower.And that is why the smell of jessaminesUnto my heart such bitter thoughts recalls.Rinaldo, quick! A glass of wine! My brainIs reeling! Another glass! Is there no more?Well, then, I’ll cease. I married RosamondAnd since then I can’t stand those bloomingBlarsted cape jessamine flowers. See?”(Houston Daily Post, Sunday morning, April 26, 1896.)
“Cape jessamines! Remove them from my sight!I can not bear that odor, cloying sweet,That hangs about them like a heavy sigh.They bring back to my memory haunting daysOf deep regret, and open all my wounds again.Fair, dream-like flower, that in this Southern townWithin the dark green copses of thy birthHangeth faint and heavy with thine own sweet breath,To me ye are a mockery, and your odor foul.Come, sit thee down, Rinaldo, I will tell thee all.Knewest thou fair Rosamond, the Houston belle,Who years ago, like some fair Lorelei of oldUpon the hearts of all our gallants set her feet?I loved her madly and I swore to winHer from the suing courtiers in her train.Alas! Rinaldo—this sudden faintness—quick—some wine!Ah! thanks, it gives me strength to tell the tale.For years I have not been myself. Since oneSad night that in my mem’ry burns white-hotLike some sad bark that washes, derelictWithin the trough of sullen alien tides,I’ve drifted down the mournful muttering seas;But at the smell of jessamines, my brainQuick strikes those aching chords of old,And all the latest agony revives.It grasps me now—more wine, Rinaldo—thanks;I’m better now. ’Twas on one summer’s nightI stood with Rosamond to count the stars.With downcast eyes and softly heaving breast,She pledged a kiss for every star that fell.My pretty, sweet, shy dove. Methinks they fellToo seldom till, anon, some frolic boysSent up a sky rocket, and when it burstUpon her lips I pressed full seventeen.But—peace! I wander from my theme.At last my love o’erpowered, and I spakeIn thrilling tones, and wooed her there.What clogs my heart? More wine, Rinaldo, quick!Oh, then she fastened on me those dark orbs,In them illimitable sadness, and such storeOf pity that her face angelic seemed.More wine, Rinaldo—thanks. I’m better now.The while the garden there was heavy withThe odor of cape jessamines, and pinnedUpon her breast a cluster of them lay.And in her hair some snowy buds were twined;Almost oppressive was the odor of the flower.And that is why the smell of jessaminesUnto my heart such bitter thoughts recalls.Rinaldo, quick! A glass of wine! My brainIs reeling! Another glass! Is there no more?Well, then, I’ll cease. I married RosamondAnd since then I can’t stand those bloomingBlarsted cape jessamine flowers. See?”
(Houston Daily Post, Sunday morning, April 26, 1896.)