Roses

"O Rose thou art sick. The invisible worm, That flies in the night In the howling storm:Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy: And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy."

"The full-blown rose, mid'st dewy sweets, Most perfect dies."

"When we desire to confine our words, we commonly say they are spoken under the rose."

"This guelder rose, at far too slight a beck Of the wind, will toss about her flower-apples."

"'Twas a yellow rose, By that south window of the little house, My cousin Romney gathered with his hand On all my birthdays, for me, save the last; And then I shook the tree too rough, too rough, For roses to stay after."

"Oh, my Luve is like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June. O, my Luve is like the melodie, That's sweetly played in tune."

"Give me one wish, and I'd be wassailing In the orchard, my English rose, Or with my shepherd, who'll bring me home."

"This little girl inside me Is retreating to her favourite place. Go into the garden. Go under the ivy, Under the leaves, Away from the party. Go right to the rose. Go right to the White Rose (For me.)"

"I'll be the Rose of Sharon for you Ooh I'll come in a hurricane for you I'll do it for you..."

"It never will rain roses: when we want To have more roses we must plant more trees."

"The Rose is pre-eminently the Flower of Love and Poetry, the very perfection of floral realities. Imagination may have flattered herself that her power could form a more perfect beauty; but, it is said, she never yet discovered such to mortal eyes."

"Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose."

"You can't really measure the effect of this kind of resistance in whether or not X number of bridges were blown up or a regime fell... The White Rose really has a more symbolic value, but that's a very important value."

"The red rose whispers of passion, And the white rose breathes of love; O, the red rose is a falcon, And the white rose is a dove."

"Every rose has its thorn Just like every night has its dawn Just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song. Every rose has its thorn."

"Die of a rose in aromatic pain."

"Like roses, that in deserts bloom and die."

"God gave His children memory That in life's garden there might be June roses in December."

"In the mean time, Emily sat picking to pieces a rosebud, from the first deep crimson leaf to the delicate pink inside. Oh! that organ of destructiveness! She had gathered it only an hour ago—a single solitary flower, where the shrubbery had run into too luxuriant a vegetation for much bloom—the very Una of roses among the green leaves, "Making a sunshine in the shady place;" and now she was destroying it."

"As rich and purposeless as is the rose: Thy simple doom is to be beautiful."

"Inter omnes flores principatum Rosa facile obtinet."

"Viera estar rosal florido, cogí rosas con sospiro: vengo del rosale.'Del rosal vengo, mi madre, vengo del rosale."

"The rose-buds lay their crimson lips together."

"Red rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days!"

"She wore a wreath of roses, The night that first we met."

"The rose that all are praising Is not the rose for me."

"Go pretty rose, go to my fair, Go tell her all I fain would dare, Tell her of hope; tell her of spring, Tell her of all I fain would sing, Oh! were I like thee, so fair a thing."

"Thus to the Rose, the Thistle: Why art thou not of thistle-breed? Of use thou'dst, then, be truly, For asses might upon thee feed."

"O rose, who dares to name thee? No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet, But pale, and hard, and dry, as stubblewheat,— Kept seven years in a drawer, thy titles shame thee."

"And thus, what can we do, Poor rose and poet too, Who both antedate our mission In an unprepared season?"

"For if I wait," said she, "Till time for roses be,— For the moss-rose and the musk-rose, Maiden-blush and royal-dusk rose,— "What glory then for me In such a company?— Roses plenty, roses plenty And one nightingale for twenty?"

"Red as a rose of Harpocrate."

"You smell a rose through a fence: If two should smell it, what matter?"

"A white rosebud for a guerdon."

"All June I bound the rose in sheaves, Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves."

"Loveliest of lovely things are they On earth that soonest pass away. The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyond the sculptured flower."

"I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phœbus peeps in view, For its like a baumy kiss o'er her sweet bonnie mou'!."

"Yon rose-buds in the morning dew, How pure amang the leaves sae green!"

"When love came first to earth, the Spring Spread rose-beds to receive him."

"Roses were sette of swete savour, With many roses that thei bere."

"Je ne suis pas la rose, mais j'ai vécu pres d'elle."

"Till the rose's lips grow pale With her sighs."

"I wish I might a rose-bud grow And thou wouldst cull me from the bower, To place me on that breast of snow Where I should bloom a wintry flower."

"O beautiful, royal Rose, O Rose, so fair and sweet! Queen of the garden art thou, And I—the Clay at thy feet! * * * * Yet, O thou beautiful Rose! Queen rose, so fair and sweet, What were lover or crown to thee Without the Clay at thy feet?"

"Oh, raise your deep-fringed lids that close To wrap you in some sweet dream's thrall; I am the spectre of the rose You wore but last night at the ball."

"In Heaven's happy bowers There blossom two flowers, One with fiery glow And one as white as snow; While lo! before them stands, With pale and trembling hands, A spirit who must choose One, and one refuse."

"Pflücke Rosen, weil sie blühn, Morgen ist nicht heut! Keine Stunde lass entfliehn. Morgen ist nicht heut."

"It is written on the rose In its glory's full array: Read what those buds disclose— "Passing away.""

"Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is even in the grave, And thou must die."

"Now the milch-cows chew the cud, Everywhere are roses, roses; Here a-blow, and there a-bud, Here in pairs, and there in posies. Roses from the gable's cliff With pale flaky petals strowing All the garden-paths, as if Frolic summer took to snowing."