The roses hush, their thorns grow tame,
They lay aside their fleeting claim.
For all they hold, they still concede,
Your light surpasses every seed.

Where twilight folds, your figure stays,
A lantern in the evening haze.
The stars relent, the night turns sweet,
And bows in silence at your feet.

The ivy leans, the wall turns fair,
It softens where you leave your air.
The night itself forgets to weep,
And folds your beauty close to keep.