An Evening Of Roses Poem by Nero CaroZiv

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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