THE BOWERS 

 

An archway of roses

That leads to the bowers

Redolently discloses

Scents of the flowers.

 

The immaculate ever-present light

Of the eternal, infinite, beatific sight

Is wherever we gaze

On our romantic walks.

Through the meadows

Which amaze,

Where our silent talks

Take place on furrows

Of yellow stalks,

Where the honeyed breezes graze

Through the garden and the square,

Where your mane and its glaze

Of raven, rosy hair

Accentuates the black brows of your eyes,

And your sunny, sable lashes,

You ravish me as vines do, climbing to the skies

Of our bastion by the sea,

Around the window sashes.

 

And all the fields in their resplendency

With their carmine blooms blushing

By the silver brook, singing, sighing, rushing

Are but perfumed sanctuaries to profess our love,

Beneath the cloudless, star-bejeweled heights

Which bless us from above,

Fulfilling our dreams,

As the courtyard gleams

Come the mountainous nights.

~ John Lars Zwerenz