My Dear Beloved Poem by Nero CaroZiv

My dear love, to me you are my fair friend, you never can be old,
Or look bend and tattered, for as you were when first your fiery eyes I eyed,
Such seems and survives within me your beauty and vividness still; fifty three winters cold
Passed, have from the forests glooms shook fifty three summers' pride,


Over your face, fifty three beauteous springs of balmy bloom to yellow fifty three autumns turned
In this cruel time process of the seasons have I seen,
Fifty three April perfumes in fifty three hot Junes burned,
Since first I saw you young, jovial and fresh, which yet are in my eyes green.


I have watched you in summer field, Oh, were I the roses, that lie against your palm hand
The heavy burning vermilion roses you touch as by them you stand!
Dear, soft hands that hold the roses, where mine own would love instead to be,
Oh leaves, leaves that engulf the roses, and bring to it the buzzing bee


Your bosom endeared with all grace and chastity of all hearts
And there reigns but tenderness and love, and all love's loving parts,
Your smiles and your frowns, their images I love, I adore what I view in thee,
And you, all of you, have all the all of me.

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