Story Of Udaipore Told By Lalla Ji The Priest

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

“And when the Summer Heat is great,

And every hour intense,

The Moghra, with its subtle flowers,

Intoxicates the sense.”

The Coco palms stood tall and slim, against the golden-glow,

And all their grey and graceful plumes were waving to and fro.

She lay forgetful in the boat, and watched the dying Sun

Sink slowly lakewards, while the stars replaced him, one by one.

She saw the marble Temple walls long white reflections make,

The echoes of their silvery bells were blown across the lake.

The evening air was very sweet; from off the island bowers

Came scents of Moghra trees in bloom, and Oleander flowers.

“The Moghra flowers that smell so sweet

When love’s young fancies play;

The acrid Moghra flowers, still sweet

Though love be burnt away.”

The boat went drifting, ucontrolled, the rower rowed no more,

But deftly turned the slender prow towards the further shore.

The dying sunset touched with gold the Jasmin in his hair;

His eyes were darkly luminous: she looked and found him fair.

And so persuasively he spoke, she could not say him nay,

And when his young hands took her own, she smiled and let them stay.

And all the youth awake in him, all love of Love in her,

All scents of white and subtle flowers that filled the twilight air

Combined together with the night in kind conspiracy

To do Love service, while the boat went drifting onwards, free.

“The Moghra flowers, the Moghra flowers,

While Youth’s quick pulses play

They are so sweet, they still are sweet,

Though passion burns away.”

Low in the boat the lovers lay, and from his sable curls

The Jasmin flowers slipped away to rest among the girl’s.

Oh, silver lake and silver night and tender silver sky!

Where as the hours passed, the moon rose white and cold on high.

“The Moghra flowers, the Moghra flowers,

So dear to Youth at play;

The small and subtle Moghra flowers

That only last a day.”

Suddenly, frightened, she awoke, and waking vaguely saw

The boat had stranded in the sedge that fringed the further shore.

The breeze grown chilly, swayed the palms; she heard, still half awake,

A prowling jackal’s hungry cry blown faintly o’er the lake.

She shivered, but she turned to kiss his soft, remembered face,

Lit by the pallid light he lay, in Youth’s abandoned grace.

But as her lips met his she paused, in terror and dismay,

The white moon showed her by her side asleep a Leper lay.

“Ah, Moghra flowers, white Moghra flowers,

All love is blind, they say;

The Moghra flowers, so sweet, so sweet,

Though love be burnt away!”

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• Memorials of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 I. Departure From The Vale Of Grasmere, August 1803 by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Matthew by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Maternal Grief by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Mark The Concentrated Hazels That Enclose by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Lucy by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Lucy Gray [or Solitude] by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Louisa: After Accompanying Her On A Mountain Excursion by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Look Now On That Adventurer Who Hath Paid by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• London, 1802 by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Lines Written On A Blank Leaf In A Copy Of The Author’s Poem “The Excursion,” by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Lines Written In Early Spring by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Lines Written As A School Exercise At Hawkshead, Anno Aetatis 14 by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Lines On The Expected Invasion, 1803 by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Lines Left Upon The Seat Of A Yew-Tree, by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Laodamia by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Lament Of Mary Queen Of Scots by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• It was an April morning: fresh and clear by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• It Is No Spirit Who From Heaven Hath Flown by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• It Is a Beauteous Evening by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth

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