This evening, I longed to hear
the soft murmur of your voice,
a balm to soothe my restless day,
a whisper to draw all cares away.
I hoped these tired, journeying eyes
might rest upon your face,
the gentlest vision ever known,
a beauty wrought from heaven.
One word I wished my lips could send,
a tender phrase that has no end
Sleep well, my beautiful,
you are the hymn my soul will always sing.
Do you know, how fair you are?
No star holds such a faithful star,
and in your eyes the heavens lie,
two oceans deep, where tempests die.
They hold the light of morning skies,
the tender gleam where stillness hides,
a secret world where love abides,
the endless truth of paradise.
So take these words, though soft and few,
my white rose, pure as evening dew,
no poet’s hand could dare devise
a bloom more fair than your sweet eyes.
The White Rose of Evening
Published
okelododdychitchats 