The old gate clicks, and down the walk,
Between clove-pink and hollyhock,
Still young of face though gray of lock,
Among her garden's flowers she goes
At evening's close,
Deep in her hair a yellow rose.
The old house shows one gable-peak
Above its trees; and sage and leek
Blend with the rose their scents: the creek,
Leaf-hidden, past the garden flows,
That on it snows
Pale petals of the yellow rose.
The crickets pipe in dewy damps;
And everywhere the fireflies' lamps
Flame like the lights of Faery camps;
While, overhead, the soft sky shows
One star that glows,
As, in gray hair, a yellow rose.
There is one spot she seeks for, where
The roses make a fragrant lair,
A spot where once he kissed her hair,
And told his love, as each one knows,
Each flower that blows,
And pledged it with a yellow rose.
The years have turned her dark hair gray
Since that glad day: and still, they say,
She keeps the tryst as on that day;
And through the garden softly goes,
At evening's close,
Wearing for him that yellow rose.
I like the way the writer blends love with nature. beautifully written I'd say
A beautiful picture created of a lady living in an old gabled home young of face with greying locks, she keeps her tryst with yellow rose from her garden, so special for her and her love, which he had placed once long ago with a kiss in her locks declaring his love forever.. sweet melody..thank you for sharing this poem.
At evening's close; with the muse of life, love and peace. Nice work.
......a lovely tribute to someone special... perhaps the poet's grandmother ★
Some things are universal- be the reader young or living in an igloo or mansion, this poems strikes a chord deep within us all. The beauty of love at the close of life.
I like this poem, its interesting