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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On The High Price Of Fish by William Cowper by William Cowper
On the Grasshopper (From The Greek) by William Cowper by William Cowper
On The Death Of The Bishop Of Ely. Anno Aet. 17. (Translated From Milton) by William Cowper by William Cowper
On The Death Of Mrs. Throckmorton’s Bullfinch by William Cowper by William Cowper
On The Death Of Damon. (Translated From Milton) by William Cowper by William Cowper
On The Benefit Received By His Majesty From Sea-Bathing, In The Year 1789 by William Cowper by William Cowper
On The Author Of Letters On Literature by William Cowper by William Cowper
On The Astrologers (From The Greek) by William Cowper by William Cowper
On Receiving Heyne’s Virgil From Mr. Hayley by William Cowper by William Cowper
On Receiving Hayley’s Picture by William Cowper by William Cowper
On Receipt Of My Mother’s Picture by William Cowper by William Cowper
On Pedigree. From Epicharmus by William Cowper by William Cowper
On Pallas Bathing, From A Hymn Of Callimachus by William Cowper by William Cowper
On One Ignorant And Arrogant (Translated From Owen) by William Cowper by William Cowper
On Observing Some Names Of Little Note Recorded In The Biographia Britannica by William Cowper by William Cowper
On Niobe (From The Greek) by William Cowper by William Cowper
On Mrs. Montague’s Feather Hangings by William Cowper by William Cowper
On Miltiades by William Cowper by William Cowper
On Late Acquired Wealth (From The Greek) by William Cowper by William Cowper
On Invalids (From The Greek) by William Cowper by William Cowper

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Adela Florence Nicolson

Violet Nicolson ( 1865 – 1904); otherwise known as Adela Florence Nicolson (née Cory), was an English poetess who wrote under the pseudonym of Laurence Hope, however she became known as Violet Nicolson. In the early 1900s, she became a best-selling author. She committed suicide and is buried in Madras, now Chennai, India.

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