The speaker remembers a beloved woman holding out a spray of starry jasmine, saying it will be her flower and asking him to remember. Within a year she is dead. Now a December wind wails and the first snow covers the ground. Too torn by grief to pray or sleep, the speaker feeds on memory and cries out for her to come back, insisting that neither heaven nor the tomb can keep her away. As the words stop, the gloomy room seems to brighten. The speaker feels a presence, and a sudden scent of jasmine fills the room. The mood shifts from raw, wintry sorrow to an eerie tenderness. The fragrance feels like an answer, or at least a sign that love has crossed the boundary of death.
The Return — Summary
"Look, dearest, this shall be my flower!" she said, "This starry jasmine." And she thrust a spray For me to smell. "Remember!" Ah, today I see her buoyant loveliness—her red Sweet lips. In one brief twelvemonth she was dead. Last night wind wailed. December's first snow lay Upon the ground. Too unresigned to pray, Too torn with racking grief to sleep, I fed My misery on remembrance. "Love," I cried, "Come back to me—come back! No heaven, no tomb Can keep you from me. Come—my own, my own!" And as I ceased the gloom was glorified— I was aware that I was not alone— A sudden scent of jasmine filled the room.