She approaches the jasmine; she raises her arms, the sleeves falling like a vapor down to the shoulders; rises upon tiptoe, and plucks a spray.

Ah! a bee, disturbed by the sprinkling of the water, has left the young jasmine, and is trying to settle on my face.

Neither to him across the stubble field May stack nor garner any comfort bring, Who loveth more this jasmine he hath made, The little tender rhyme he yet can sing, Than yesterday, with all its pompous yield, Or all its shaken laurels on his head.

My sheep crop honeysuckle bloom, while all around them blows In clusters rich the jasmine, as brave as any rose. COMETAS.

Lips unused to thee, Bashful, sip thy jasmines, As the fainting bee, Reaching late his flower, Round her chamber hums, Counts his nectars enters, And is lost in balms!

He has been helping her to smell the jasmine, and to look down the datura's great white trumpet-throats.

Who would think of watering a tender jasmine with hot water? ACT IV. Scene.