O' precious Rose, I see thy face aglow,
At eventide, when I in dream retire,
Upon my soul, thy tenderness bestow,
As touched upon, by depth of thy desire.
Fair Rose, dear creature of my night's rejoice,
When I upon thee gaze, mine heart doth quiver,
In sweet anticipation of thy voice,
A satin bloom, unto me deliver,
Aglaea, sweet Grace of Splendor sent,
As meadows washed in rain, untrodden snow,
A joy unblemished, thy love transcendent,
From forth thy lips, as honeyed mead doth flow.
Thou art Calliope, goddess of night,
Thy beauty fair, outshines the welkin light.
[This message has been edited by Mike (edited 05-26-2000).]