"There was never a daughter of Eve but once, ere the tale of her years be done, Shall know the scent of the Eden Rose, but once beneath the sun; Though the years may bring her joy or pain, fame, sorrow or sacrifice, The hour that brought her the scent of the Rose, she lived it in Paradise."

"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."

"A waft from the roadside bank Tells where the wild rose nods."

"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?"

"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."

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

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

"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."

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

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

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

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

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

"A white rosebud for a guerdon."

"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."

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

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

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

"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."

"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?"

"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."

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

"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."

"Red as a rose of Harpocrate."

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

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

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

"'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."

"Inter omnes flores principatum Rosa facile obtinet."

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

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

"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."

"There is no gathering the rose without being pricked by the thorns."

"The buttercups across the field Made sunshine rifts of splendor."

"When buttercups are blossoming, The poets sang, 'tis best to wed: So all for love we paired in Spring , Blanche and I, ere youth had sped."

"And O the buttercups! that field O' the cloth of gold, where pennons swam , Where France set up his lilied shield, His oriflamb, And Henry's lion-standard rolled: What was it to their matchless sheen, Their million million drops of gold Among the green!"

"The buttercups, bright-eyed and bold, Held up their chalices of gold To catch the sunshine and the dew."

"Fair is the kingcup that in meadow blows, Fair is the daisy that beside her grows."

"All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children's dower."

"Dear robin," said this sad young flower, "Perhaps you'd not mind trying To find a nice white frill for me, Some day when you are flying?" "You silly thing!" the robin said; "I think you must be crazy! I'd rather be my honest self Than any made-up daisy. "You're nicer in your own bright gown, The little children love you; Be the best buttercup you can, And think no flower above you. "Though swallows leave me out of sight, We'd better keep our places; Perhaps the world would all go wrong With one too many daisies. "Look bravely up into the sky, And be content with knowing That God wished for a buttercup Just here, where you are growing."

"The royal kingcup bold Dares not don his coat of gold."

"Light gatherer. You fell from a star into my lap, the soft lamp at the bedside mirrored in you, and now you shine like a snowgirl, a buttercup under a chin, the wide blue yonder you squeal at and fly in."

"Against her ankles as she trod The lucky buttercups did nod."

"He likes the poor things of the world the best, I would not, therefore, if I could be rich. It pleases him to stoop for buttercups."

"…The thornless lilacs summon up no dread, Demand no witness. Flower, branch, and leaf Are only what they are. They have no words For us to ponder, though we sometimes feign To speak for them, as augury of birds Construes an omen of impending pain."

"Out in the lonely woods the jasmine burns Its fragrant lamps, and turns Into a royal court with green festoons The banks of dark lagoons."

"But when they had unloosed the linen band, Which swathed the Egyptian's body, lo! was found, Closed in the wasted hollow of her hand, A little seed, which, sown in English ground, Did wondrous snow of starry blossoms bear, And spread rich odours through our springtide air."