Song Of Jasoda

A poem by Violet Nicolson, Lawrence Hope, Adela Florence Cory Nicolson (1865 – 1904)

Had I been young I could have claimed to fold thee

For many days against my eager breast;

But, as things are, how can I hope to hold thee

Once thou hast wakened from this fleeting rest?

Clear shone the moonlight, so that thou couldst find me,

Yet not so clear that thou couldst see my face,

Where in the shadow of the palms behind me

I waited for thy steps, for thy embrace.

What reck I now my morning life was lonely?

For widowed feet the ways are always rough.

Though thou hast come to me at sunset only,

Still thou hast come, my Lord, it is enough.

Ah, mine no more the glow of dawning beauty,

The fragrance and the dainty gloss of youth,

Worn by long years of solitude and duty,

I have no bloom to offer thee in truth.

Yet, since these eyes of mine have never wandered,

Still may they gleam with long forgotten light.

Since in no wanton way my youth was squandered,

Some sense of youth still clings to me to-night.

_Thy_ lips are fresh as dew on budding roses,

The gold of dawn still lingers in thy hair,

While the abandonment of sleep discloses

How every attitude of youth is fair.

Thou art so pale, I hardly dare caress thee,

Too brown my fingers show against the white.

Ahi, the glory, that I should possess thee,

Ahi, the grief, but for a single night!

The tulip tree has pallid golden flowers

That grow more rosy as their petals fade;

Such is the splendour of my evening hours

Whose time of youth was wasted in the shade.

I shall not wait to see to-morrow’s morning,

Too bright the golden dawn for me,–too bright,–

How could I bear thine eyes’ unconscious scorning

Of what so pleased thee in the dimmer light?

It may be wine had brought some brief illusion,

Filling thy brain with rainbow fantasy,

Or youth, with moonlight, making sweet collusion,

Threw an alluring glamour over me

Therefore I leave thee softly, to awaken

When the first sun rays warm thy blue-veined breast,

Smiling and all unknowing I have taken

The poppied drink that brings me endless rest.

Thus would I have thee rise; thy fancy laden

With the vague sweetness of the bygone night,

Thinking of me as some consenting maiden,

Whose beauty blossomed first for thy delight.

While I, if any kindly visions hover

Around the silence of my last repose,

Shall dream of thee, my pale and radiant lover,

Who made my life so lovely at its close!

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Poems in English 

• Sonnet 71: No longer mourn for me when I am dead by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 70: That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 6: Then let not winter’s ragged hand deface by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 69: Those parts of thee that the world’s eye doth view by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 68: Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 67: Ah, wherefore with infection should he live by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 66: Tired with all these, for restful death I cry by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 65: Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 64: When I have seen by Time’s fell hand defaced by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 63: Against my love shall be, as I am now by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 62: Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 61: Is it thy will thy image should keep open by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 60: Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 5: Those hours, that with gentle work did frame by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 59: If there be nothing new, but that which is by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 58: That god forbid, that made me first your slave by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 57: Being your slave, what should I do but tend by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 56: Sweet love, renew thy force, be it not said by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 55: Not marble, nor the gilded monuments by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 95: How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare

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