The roses hush, their fragrance mild,
They yield before the night’s true child.
Each bloom concedes, each thorn forgives,
For beauty shows the way life lives.

The stones grow warm, the ivy leans,
They frame the sight the twilight means.
Each shadow bends, each silence stills,
To echo softly what you will.

The roses hush, the moonlight stays,
It paints your form in silver haze.
The stars relent, the night turns sweet,
And bows in silence at your feet.