The ivy trembles where you lean,
Its climbing hands grow still, serene.
Your eyes, two lanterns burning slow,
Guide every breeze in where to go.

You rest where twilight folds the air,
A spark of grace beyond compare.
The night itself begins to dream,
Of golden light within your gleam.

Where roses wake, their whispers call,
They climb in silence down the wall.
Yet none can match the glow they see,
When caught inside your mystery.