Ah, these jasmines, these white jasmines! br I seem to remember the first day when I filled my hands with br these jasmines, these white jasmines. br I have loved the sunlight, the sky and the green earth; br I have heard the liquid murmur of the river thorough the br darkness of midnight; br Autumn sunsets have come to me at the bend of a road in the br lonely waste, like a bride raising her veil to accept her lover. br Yet my memory is still sweet with the first white jasmines br that I held in my hands when I was a child. br Many a glad day has come in my life, and I have laughed with br merrymakers on festival nights. br On grey mornings of rain I have crooned many an idle song. br I have worn round my neck the evening wreath of bakulas woven br by the hand of love. br Yet my heart is sweet with the memory of the first fresh br jasmines that filled my hands when I was a child.