Every Bush is burning with the RoseVienna's Rose Garden in late Spring

Beside a Dial in the leafy close,
Where every bush was burning with the rose,
With million roses falling flake by flake
Upon the lawn in fading summer snows:

I read the Persian Poet's rhyme of old,
Each thought a ruby in a ring of gold?
Old thoughts so young, that, after all these years,
They're writ on every rose-leaf yet unrolled.

You may not know the secret tongue aright
The Sunbeams on their rosy tablets write;
Only a poet may perchance translate
Those ruby-tinted hieroglyphs of light.
- Mathilde Blind
"In a Kentish Rose Garden" -

Rose Garden
Late afternoon
of Sunday
29 May 2011

Images
© by Merisi