An Evening Of Roses
An evening of roses scent comes to the world
As the wind beats the far mountains; it blows
More softly around the open grassy wold
Where the shy timid tulip hides as it grows
The evening is descending calm like a nun
When at the far sky the first star glows against lowering sun
This is when through waving silky hair in your exquisite ear
I shall whisper a song of love and cheer
And me this knowledge of evening so rare, bolder made
Or else I had not dared to fantasize and to flow
In these lines towards you, and invade
With this verse your peace or your holy woe
Listen to the holy music of the creatures night
The sounds of evening choirs so distilled and clear
As the moon climbs so slowly to its high orbit bright
You she constantly follows and persistent at you to peer
Come love to the garden of the balmy roses
The silver cheerful moon is at your command
Grape her, touch her by your extended hand
Before she reaches the mountains peak where she poses
In ever climbing up the up growing trees
All flowers wreaths come to rest at the top canopies
In silence withholding their secrets they are all in ease
Yet their plots and dreams in the forest have not cease
How sweet it is hearing the faint breeze among the trees
The soft inland murmur of downwards flowing stream
As the vivid water rise and fall among the outcropping rocks they tease
No where else you can contemplate such a beguiling dream
We shall sit beneath an old oak tree hear each other in love speech
As the moon shines and spreads her silver rays
We watch the crisping ripples on the pebbled beach
And the tender curving lines of forest sprout under light spray
Do not be so shy and coy to play your love part
In our time-beguiling art
This primrose bush on which we lean
Never can guess or deem what we mean
None of its buds can see or blab
The gaudy grasshopper is too busy after its pulp
And the heavy smug frog
Into the bottom lake after its prey plops
We can hide well behind the vermilion-veined tulip
On its flowery bed we can rest or sleep
The crowds of cowslip ahead never prattle
Nor their distinguished neighbor the shy myrtle
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Related quotes
Let me woo you in the wee of the hour
Let me woo you in the wee
Of the hour when we are sitting beneath a shady tree
Among its boughs we laugh and kiss
There no adder dares to hiss
When kissing speaks with lustful language
Troubles would be gone, oh vanish anguish
My lips will roam in your garden of roses
Missing none of your thousands posies
Seven kisses short as one
Would leave the work undone
And even one long as ten
Would not bring our happy scene to its end
The day will seem as an hour short
When dealing with such pleasures and sport
Your lips cloyed with loathed satiety
Turning red and pale with fresh variety
You lie tied and tangled in my net
I cannot tell
Is it content or is it fret?
Though you tender panting shows you are unripe
I will let none of your advantages slip
Do not be so shy and coy to play your part
In our time-beguiling art
This primrose bush on which we lean
Never can guess or deem what we mean
None of its buds can see or blab
The gaudy grasshopper is too busy after its pulp
And the heavy smug frog
Into the bottom’s lake plops
We can hide well behind the vermilion-veined tulip
On its flowery bed we can rest or sleep
The crowds of cowslip ahead never prattle
Nor their distinguished neighbor the shy myrtle
No doubt our scene is not in sight
So be pert nimble and full of conceit
From your tempting lips I will rob a drop
And my blood in my veins starts to throb
Who can believe that one dropp from such a barrel
Makes one’s eyes see but pearls
Then we can our pose exchange
And let your voluptuous lips do the command
Mine, what love-slaves would love to obey
While yours never feed on such luscious prey
As a fierce falcon sharp by fast
Your lips on mine forever last
At dusk we can love on the lawn
Where no one peeps or glances except the moon alone
Leave our lure on the bosom of a lush lea
Never the world has known such glee
At midnight we lave at the falls of the vales
Encircled by lofty trees and sturdy dales
On the glassy face of a spangled bay
We chase the moon light quite a way
You are naked and gilded colossus
Against the moon-luster blazes
Outdoing in beauty and grace
Any ocean nymph with human face
You bask in the starry string of a night dark
Amazing the heavily sleeping lark
Dive and plump in the silent lake
Leaving around circulates glittering idly without a break
Until they all melt into one glamorous track
To contend with the moon sheen
Such a war of lights was never before seen
Then dip and leap and dive again
Splashing liquid pearls on every lane
Some watery stones took a longer pass
Falling on the long bladed grass
Turning it to studded swords of mighty kings
The imperious supreme of all mortal things
Only one stubborn watery gem earnestly craved
To use the lovely vale of your breast as its internal cave
At dawn we site upon lofty hills
And watch the farmers lining furrows on the fields
Or we can mount the craggy rocks
And watch the shepherds lead their flocks
By shallow brooks and rank springs
The melodious morning birds would for us sing
Come love; gather our flower days on their prime
Or they would be consumed and wasted by rushing time
The days of our youth are sweet but short
They race to their end as the foaming waves to pebbled shore
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Memories
I remember my father’s garden
Roses grew in full bloom behind the maple tree
That has always been there, in my memory,
Its trunk seemed golden
Beneath the light of the moon and stars in the evening and
At dawn, it would capture the rays of the sun,
Turning copper beneath the shadows cast by the mountains;
I have always adored the nighttime hours-
The stars seemed magical to me, glistening within the darkness and
The moon brings me peace of mind, quietly sleeping,
As its gentle rays illuminated the sky, giving just enough light
So I could see the roses, trees and wildflowers that decorated my father’s garden.
My father passed away twenty years ago and
I can recall his love for nature and his passion for the silence of the evening hours-
So much like mine-so many memories have escaped me but
I can still hear his laughter ringing throughout the valley near our home,
And every time I look upward toward the moon at twilight,
I can nearly see his smile shining through its muted light-
As a gentle breeze would blow, rustling the leaves upon the trees-
It would remind me that my father’s soul is still alive-
I see his face in every rose and his hands grasping the branches on the trees-
And I have always believed that even though people die and
Though their bodies may never be seen again,
The love and recollection of their spirits remain
In the places that they so loved-
My father’s home was in his garden amongst the maple trees, roses and wildflowers, and
In my innermost thoughts, it is there where he remains- and
Every day and every night, when I walk amongst the trees and flowers
I can hear his voice calling my name and in my heart I know
He can still hear my voice and see my face, as in the light of the moon and stars-
We shall be bonded in spirit for an eternity.
Claudia Krizay
poem by Claudia Krizay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A night at a garden
A river crossing in the forest gloom ground
Brings me down from a hill secluded and tall
The garden roses that once we stroll
Is empty and forgetful of you and me
And lost it seems in troubles that circle endlessly around
Here at the head of a tinkling fall
The rivulet at the chasm trying to pass its way to the sea
The rivulet struggles the mounting rocks at the fall
As I do to hear you once again whisper
In odor and in color
“Be among the roses tonight”
Come into the garden of roses love
For the frightening black bat night has flown
Come into the secret garden dove
I am here at the gate but the moon alone
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad
And the musk of the roses in the night air is blown
For the breeze down the bank bay moves
And the garden of love is as high
Being to faint in the din of a remote horse hooves
On a bed of daffodils sky
To faint in the light of the rising sun I love
To faint waiting in its light and die
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Night Secrets
Night Secrets…
No more my aching heart
As you sleep silent in my breast
Awakening in the night
I await your sweet caress
My aching, barren arms in vain
So many times I've wept
At night upon my pillow
While in my bed I slept
Night secrets in the darkness
Like dark, murky shadows
That linger in the night
The rain softly whispers
Through the wind and trees
Carrying my secrets
To the moon shining bright
Secrets kept deep within my heart
They whisper in the night
No one else may listen
There's no one else in sight
They echo through the evening
Those things I cannot share
My secrets whispering in the darkness
Like a breeze fluttering through air
Until then…
I'll wait my love
For your soft, caressing touch
With the stars softly glowing
Through the window in my room
I lie quietly in my bed
With the shadows of the night
Whispers flow in the breeze
Sending them gently to the moon
Until then…
I'll wait til you come again
When I can softly whisper in your ear
Those secrets that I carry
Sharing secrets...
With the one I love so dear
Until then I'll wait...
For my heart belongs to only you
poem by ANNE P LadeeAnne MURRAY
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To dream her
Is it a dream or is it a scene
Is it a phantom only in my imagination seen?
Do I see her shadow in the forest’s gloom?
When the moon is in its nightly orbit loom
The sun has long sunk in the dusky skies
To veil its fair glories while I spy
The unclouded luster of her eyes
Her bashful beguiling beauties once descried
The vanquished roses lose their pride
And in their thorny leaves their blushes hide
Myrtles have lost their balmy girdle
And dropping lilies seen sadly to tell
A melancholic story how much her sweets their own excel
Watching her withdraws into the forest dark my soul pauses in pray
For the light breaks out and goes away
And I am on the look for the vanishing ray
But once she gone the lilies their heads rear
And with fresh balmy scents perfume the air
When the glory of their rival is not there
Again grown bold and proud the spreading rose
Its blooming buds does disclose
And into the vaulting skies its incense throws
..
..
I languish at her beguiling charms when she drew nigh
But if she disappears again I will die
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Two beneath a shady tree
They were two beneath a shady tree cover
An old oak tree with blistered trunk and bark failing over
Like the hand of an old man with frail eyes
Yet leaves and fresh sprouts from its boughs shot to the skies
An old sturdy oak tree under summer sun
In mid of golden wheat clustered by the wind run
The waves of the wheat heads combed by gale and breeze
As the two set and made themselves at calm ease
They set and watched the golden field swaying in dance
The broken roar and the dim din of a remote city at horizon glance
She was beautiful and shy like a violet by a mossy wall stone
She set by him hidden and through his eyes she was only his own
They set beneath the tree, their life yet untrodden path
They spoke the first verses of love with joy and laugh
What was to come they knew not; merely the glory of that hour to bear
since they were innocent and pure; the masters of the days that were
They gathered roses from the field while they may
Unaware of old time that was still to carry them flying
A world so harsh where love grows and fleets away
They fell to play losing no time in grieving and sighing
And so they sat beneath an old oak before the sun in dusky skies
veiled his fair locks of child hair while he did spy
The unclouded luster that dwelled in her slaying eyes
Her bashful beauties once descried
The vanquished flowers around lost their pride
And in their vermilion buds their blushing they did hide
Losing their balmy fresh summer smell
They would never admit or tell
How much her sweets by far their own did excel.
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In the Moonlight
The moon is bright, and the winds are laid, and the river is roaring by;
Orion swings, with his belted lights low down in the western sky;
North and south from the mountain gorge to the heart of the silver plain
There’s many an eye will see no sleep till the east grows bright again;
There’s many a hand will toil to-night, from the centre down to the sea;
And I’m far from the men I used to know—and my love is far from me.
Where the broad flood eddies the dredge is moored to the beach of shingle white,
And the straining cable whips the stream in a spray of silver light;
The groaning buckets bear their load, and the engine throbs away,
And the wash pours red on the turning screen that knows not night or day;
For there’s many an ounce of gold to save, from the gorge to the shining sea—
And there’s many a league of the bare brown hills between my love and me.
Where the lines of gorse are parched and dry, and the sheaves are small and thin,
The engine beats and the combine sings to the drays that are leading in,
For they’re thrashing out of the stook to-night, and the plain is as bright as day,
And the fork-tines flash as the sheaves are turned on the frame of the one-horse dray;
For many a hand will toil to-night, from the mountains down to the sea;—
But I’m far from the lips of the girl I love, and the heart that beats for me.
The trappers are out on the hills to-night, and the sickly lantern-shine
Is mocking the gleam of the silver moon in the scrub on the long trap-line;
The tallies are big on the rock-strewn spur, and the rattling clink of the chain
Comes weirdly mixed from the moon-bright hill with the whistling shriek of pain;
For many a hand will toil to-night where the tussocks are waving free;—
But it’s over the hills and over the plain to the heart that beats for me.
The stars are bright, and the night is still, and the river is singing by,
And many a face is upward turned to gaze at the moon’s bright eye.
North and south, from the forest deeps to the heart of the silver plain,
There’s many an eye will see no sleep till the east grows bright again;
There’s many a hand will toil to-night by shining land and sea.
O moonlight, bear my message of love to the heart that beats for me.
poem by David McKee Wright
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A night mood
The moon reddish color looms through horizon’s fog
In the dancing mist the hazy meadow sleeps
By the green lush a reptilian creature calls his mate frog
There where a shadowy movement stealthily creeps
Water flowers fold their petals round
In the distance tall and in close array
Yellow willows outline their shadowy forms to the ground
And towards the dark thickets the fireflies stray
The screech owl wakes and soundlessly scouts its links
It beats the dark air with heavy wings
And heaven is filled with muffled light
Pale moon appears and spreads the splendor of the night
Rise up! Rise up!
Sloth forlorn silver moon
Send your gleams through the forest glooms
From every branch and leaf
There comes a voice beneath the bower to relief
Oh precious divine moment
The shy sleepy pond not too late behind
Joins to reflect shimmer mirrors
The silhouette of the dim willow
Where the wind calmly lament over water
Oh vast and tender universe sky
An appeasement seems to lower
From the firmament start-adorned
Let us love, let us dream
It is the hour of glamor sheen
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To the Evening Star
Thou fair-haired angel of the evening,
Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light
Thy bright torch of love; thy radiant crown
Put on, and smile upon our evening bed!
Smile on our loves, and while thou drawest the
Blue curtains of the sky, scatter thy silver dew
On every flower that shuts its sweet eyes
In timely sleep. Let thy west wing sleep on
The lake; speak silence with thy glimmering eyes,
And wash the dusk with silver. Soon, full soon,
Dost thou withdraw; then the wolf rages wide,
And the lion glares through the dun forest.
The fleeces of our flocks are covered with
Thy sacred dew; protect with them with thine influence.
poem by William Blake
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I
"Ah, poet, the evening draws near; your hair is turning grey.
Do you in your lonely musing hear the message of the hereafter?"
"It is evening, the poet said, and I am listening because some
one may call from the village, late though it be.
I watch if young straying hearts meet together, and two pairs of
eager eyes beg for music to break their silence and speak for
them.
Who is there to weave their passionate songs, if I sit on the
shore of life and contemplate death and the beyond?
The early evening star disappears.
The glow of a funeral pyre slowly dies by the silent river.
Jackals cry in chorus from the courtyard of the deserted house
in the light of the worn-out moon.
If some wanderer, leaving home, come here to watch the night and
with bowed head listen to the murmur of the darkness, who is
there to whisper the secrets of life into his ears if I,
shutting my doors, should try to free myself from mortal bonds?
It is a trifle that my hair is turning grey.
I am ever as young or as old as the youngest and the oldest of
this village.
Some have smiles, sweet and simple, and some a sly twinkle in
their eyes.
Some have tears that well up in the daylight, and others tears
that are hidden in the gloom.
They all have need for me, and I have no time to brood over the
afterlife.
I am of an age with each, what matter if my hair turns grey?"
poem by Rabindranath Tagore from The Gardener (1913)
Submitted by Silvia Velea
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A Poem of Night and Fall
I thank you for the moon at night
and also for the stars that shine
and basking in it heavenly light
I wish the universe were mine
A midnight breeze
tosses my hair
and blows the leaves
of hidden trees
into fall air
a silver light
shines on the grass
a rabbits flight
then safe at last
at home tonight
a silver silence
speaks its presence
to the world
and in the fading, evening light
the dew drifts down
behold, the night
We see the shadows running past
and in the corners of our minds
we count the summer days till last
and the beginning is falls time
the scarlet leaves are mine
poem by Elizabeth Shield
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If I was in the Moon - Pinewood Royal
From an idea by Sophie Mitchell-Dwelly
Before the coming of the night
I see the moon rise all dressed in white
In the crepuscular light
I see the stars come out so bright
As I watch the stars appear
Like diamonds on a velvet blanket
And when the sky is clear
I'm so glad that I am here with you
Oh The Moon she looks so pale
Do you think she's happy in her misty veil?
Oh her light is everywhere
On a beach of pebbles we're standing there
If I was in the moon
I wouldn't want to leave too soon
If I was in the moon
I might just stay for ever
Oh Dancing in the moonlight
Our feet feel so light
Dancing in the moonlight
Oh the stars are so bright
Owls calling through the trees
And the frogs are chirping in the evening breeze
The crickets play their tune
By the light of the magical moon
If I was in the moon
I wouldn't want to leave too soon
If I was in the moon
I might just stay for ever
poem by GuyPaul MitchellDwelly
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Morning Spring
The foul mist has been replaced in the greening plain,
And the dew-drops shine on the ear lop of a balmy rose, not rain,
The coquette rose awakes facing East again
Its lovely self adorning in such fresh scent morning with no strain.
Oh, the vast plain is grassy, untamed wild and bare
Wild, wanton and wide open to the morning air
Which has built up everywhere
Making the little rabbit to the meadow tread and dare
upon the far horizon blue peaks in the distance rise
And ivory white against the cold sapphire sky
Shine out of the crowing crests of snow
Beneath their line the bushes stretching in a dominant grow
The morning wind is hiding, sighing, dodging among the trees,
A sighing, soothing, laughing tease, of glee, not tears
The sun is rising in bright dusk skies
Veils his fair head of glory while contently he spies
This morning it is my love unclouded luster of her eyes
Her beauty shines as nature does; and once it descried
The jealous vanquish roses lose their bursting pride
And back into their home buds their blushes hide
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We shall stroll no more
We shall stroll no more
On pebbled white elongated shores
Or go wandering on dunes so late
Into the meadows by the night of date
Though the heart be still as loving as ever
Yet in aching pains in tears in sighs in quivers
And the moon be still as bright
Yet an orphaned and out of sight
Time wears out things and the sword outwears its sheath
And love outwears my tortured soul in my empty breast
The heart must pause now and catch a breath
And love itself seeks but soothing rest.
By night we no longer linger on a lea or on a lawn
For an underfoot of herb that was dry
And genial warmth, hovering over the sky
The silver haze of late summer night drawn
Though it was a night of our supreme delight
As pure as holy as perfect as a pray
The very source and fount of beams and rays
It dashed with stern isles of blight
Though the night is made for loving
And the day returned upon us too soon
We will go no more roving
By the light of the pert and nimble moon
Twisting, waving, dancing shadows roam the desolated sands
vague sceneries of ghosts and voices of past time;
Disconnected frames in fading memory past their prime
Touch them; feel them extend your hands
Yet in vain, at the solitary beach no one stands
Just the silence of echoing dunes and howling winds leading
The foaming waves to their final end.
And the air, water and sand sigh pleading
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A Song Of Savoy
As the dim twilight shrouds
The mountain's purple crest,
And Summer's white and folded clouds
Are glowing in the west,
Loud shouts come up the rocky dell,
And voices hail the evening-bell.
Faint is the goatherd's song,
And sighing comes the breeze;
The silent river sweeps along
Amid its bending trees -
And the full moon shines faintly there,
And music fills the evening air.
Beneath the waving firs
The tinkling cymbals sound;
And as the wind the foliage stirs,
I see the dancers bound
Where the green branches, arched above,
Bend over this fair scene of love.
And he is there, that sought
My young heart long ago!
But he has left me - though I thought
He ne'er could leave me so.
Ah! lover's vows - how frail are they!
And his - were made but yesterday.
Why comes he not? I call
In tears upon him yet;
'Twere better ne'er to love at all,
Than love, and then forget!
Why comes he not? Alas! I should
Reclaim him still, if weeping could.
But see - he leaves the glade,
And beckons me away:
He comes to seek his mountain maid!
I cannot chide his stay.
Glad sounds along the valley swell,
And voices hail the evening-bell.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Let Me Wake Up Young
Let me wake up young at early dawn again
And welcome the showers of spring first rain
Let me love and peer up at the morning sun
With half shut eyes and comfortable fresh cheek
Let me live a sweet life tale full often to seek
Through meadows and pathless woods where rivers fall and run
Let me love again my brightest beautiful one
Of heaven and divine let me slowly speak
These love tunes to the night and the starlight meek
Or the moon, if that her hunting be begun
Let me know, let me relive these delights and be prone
To moralize upon a smile and a tear
And find at once a region in a world of my own
A meadow, a bower for my spirit where it will steer
To alleys of forest gloom where pine tree dropp their cone
Where foxes hide, robins chirp and leaves are fallen sere
Let me wake up in strength and vigor hope
Worship the morning, the mystic night, the light the shade and lush lea on slope
Let me glance again fresh on wide plains, fair foliage trees, and at sprouting flowers
Call on birds over clear streams, smooth calm lakes, and long stretched bowers
Let me lost in the happiness of pathless woods with tall towers
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Images
I
Like a gondola of green scented fruits
Drifting along the dark canals of Venice,
You, O exquisite one,
Have entered into my desolate city.
II
The blue smoke leaps
Like swirling clouds of birds vanishing.
So my love leaps forth toward you,
Vanishes and is renewed.
III
A rose-yellow moon in a pale sky
When the sunset is faint vermilion
In the mist among the tree-boughs
Art thou to me, my beloved.
IV
A young beech tree on the edge of the forest
Stands still in the evening,
Yet shudders through all its leaves in the light air
And seems to fear the stars -
So are you still and so tremble.
V
The red deer are high on the mountain,
They are beyond the last pine trees.
And my desires have run with them.
VI
The flower which the wind has shaken
Is soon filled again with rain;
So does my heart fill slowly with tears,
Until you return.
poem by Richard Aldington
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The Harvest Moon
Drinking the dripping light
Of the Harvest Moon,
I lie on my back, only
The sound of some crickets
Is trembling around.
The stillness to me is now a boon!
The wet grass land calms
My feverish head.
The cool air blows and I
Remain as a person dead.
Insects roam beside my body though
I do not leave them away!
This is the evening I want, I know
Every time, to be alone, alone....
No one with me on this special day,
When the evening will embrace night,
The moonlight will focus on me.
I shall bathe with his color bright
The green darkness will hug me soon!
No human eye can watch my love in the lea,
With the Evening harvest moon...
poem by Nilakshi Das
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The Fugitive
The air is perfumed with the morning's fresh breeze,
From the bush peer the sunbeams all purple and bright,
While they gleam through the clefts of the dark-waving trees,
And the cloud-crested mountains are golden with light.
With joyful, melodious, ravishing, strain,
The lark, as he wakens, salutes the glad sun,
Who glows in the arms of Aurora again,
And blissfully smiling, his race 'gins to run.
All hail, light of day!
Thy sweet gushing ray
Pours down its soft warmth over pasture and field;
With hues silver-tinged
The meadows are fringed,
And numberless suns in the dewdrop revealed.
Young Nature invades
The whispering shades,
Displaying each ravishing charm;
The soft zephyr blows,
And kisses the rose,
The plain is sweet-scented with balm.
How high from yon city the smoke-clouds ascend!
Their neighing, and snorting, and bellowing blend
The horses and cattle;
The chariot-wheels rattle,
As down to the valley they take their mad way;
And even the forest where life seems to move,
The eagle, and falcon, and hawk soar above,
And flutter their pinions, in heaven's bright ray.
In search of repose
From my heart-rending woes,
Oh, where shall my sad spirit flee?
The earth's smiling face,
With its sweet youthful grace,
A tomb must, alas, be for me!
Arise, then, thou sunlight of morning, and fling
O'er plain and o'er forest thy purple-dyed beams!
Thou twilight of evening, all noiselessly sing
In melody soft to the world as it dreams!
Ah, sunlight of morning, to me thou but flingest
Thy purple-dyed beams o'er the grave of the past!
Ah, twilight of evening, thy strains thou but singest
To one whose deep slumbers forever must last!
poem by Friedrich Schiller
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I dread the calm
I dread the calm in the morning of a mourn without a sound
It is a calm that comes to foster a greater grief
It is a calm light of dusk before ever dew was falling from leaves
It is a calm sinking in calm pattering to the ground
I fear the calm and scudding winds in the high wold
And on the dews the drench the gorse
And all the silvery gossamer
Shaken into gilded gold
Is it calm and still in the dusky light over great plains
That sweeps late and swiftly in autumn bowers
Of secluded farms and solitary towers
To merge with the bounding and the saint
Is it calm on the vast sea under the spangled silver sleep
The waves that sway in colossus to lull themselves to rest
And the dead calm in the deepening breast
Which heaves with the heaving deep
Yet calm is the mute peace in the meadow’s air
The forest gloom with loom of leaves that redden to fall
And in my chest if calm can ever dwell at all
If any calm is there, it is the calm of despair
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