quotations about roses
Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say;
Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?
EDWARD FITZGERALD
Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám
Since Eden's freshness and man's fall, no rose has been original.
THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH
"Originality"
The Roses are blooming! all fragrant they're come;
Sweet Philomel wooes them; the bee, with blithe hum,
From each crimson cup quaffs the nectarine dew,
And the butterfly rifles their sweets ever new.
Fresh roses, full blown, now in groups meet the eye,
Green buds clustering round them, beneath a blue sky.
Like proud city dames, some in rich gardens grow;
As peasant-girls blushing, some grace the hedge-row.
CHARLES KENWORTHY
"The Roses Are Coming", Original Poems on Miscellaneous Subjects
The rose shadows said that they loved the sun, but that they also loved the dark, where their roots grew through the lightless mystery of the earth. The roses said: You do not have to choose.
ROBIN MCKINLEY
Sunshine
Some people grumble that roses have thorns; I am grateful that thorns have roses.
ALPHONSE KARR
A Tour Round My Garden
Though every year
It's very clear
I should be used
To carrying on
But I can be found in the garden
Singing this song
When the last
Rose of summer is gone
TOM WAITS
"The Last Rose of Summer"
Beauty is an ecstasy; it is as simple as hunger. There is really nothing to be said about it. It is like the perfume of a rose: you can smell it and that is all.
W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM
Cakes and Ale
O beautiful, royal Rose,
O Rose, so fair and sweet!
Queen of the garden art thou,
And I--the Clay at thy feet!
JULIA C. R. DORR
The Clay and the Rose
There is a rose in Spanish Harlem
A red rose up in Spanish Harlem
With eyes as black as coal
That look down in my soul
And start a fire there and then I lose control
I have to beg your pardon
I'm gonna pick that rose
And watch her as she grows in my garden
THE MAMAS & THE PAPAS
"Spanish Harlem"
White roses climbing up the hill,
White roses, are ye virgin still?
Or has some finger spoiled your loveliness
By a too-ardent sudden tenderness?
DOROTHY LANDERS BEALL
"The Woman--and This Man", Poems
A rose is not a rose is not a rose. Each rose is unique, a gem of its own nature.
MARTHA ROSE WARNER
A Rose Is a Rose
The rose has told
In one simplicity
That never life
Relinquishes a bloom
But to bestow
An ancient confidence
NATHALIA CRANE
Venus Invisible and Other Poems
All June I bound the rose in sheaves,
Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves.
ROBERT BROWNING
One Way of Love
The Roses are fading! a dull yellow tinge
Creeps o'er their bright leaf, weaving there a curled fringe;
Each flower, as in grief, bows its languishing head;
The blanched leaves, fast shedding, fall on their cold bed;
The proudest now droop, and the loveliest decay;
Their perfume and splendour are passing away.
Here, pensively musing, may Beauty's self view
How transient the charms of her cheek's roseate hue!
CHARLES KENWORTHY
"The Roses Are Coming", Original Poems on Miscellaneous Subjects
Pretty Rose, thou gaudy flower,
Sacred to Love's almighty power,
Whence there's no Lover ever seeks,
But finds Thee in his Mistress' cheeks.
ANACREON
"Ode V", Odes
There is no more potent symbol of love than red roses. Whether a single bud or a whole bouquet, they whisper love in virtually every language. The color of beating hearts and hot blood, they convey not just affection but pure pounding passion.
MEG MCCONAHEY
"Best roses to grow in a North Coast climate", The Press Democrat, February 12, 2016
My wild Irish Rose
The sweetest flower that grows
You may search everywhere but none can compare
With my wild Irish Rose
HANK LOCKLIN
"My Wild Irish Rose"
Did you hear about the rose that grew from a crack in the concrete? Proving nature's laws wrong, it learned to walk without having feet. Funny, it seems to by keeping it's dreams; it learned to breathe fresh air. Long live the rose that grew from concrete when no one else even cared.
TUPAC SHAKUR
The Rose That Grew from Concrete
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.
WILLIAM BLAKE
"The Sick Rose", Songs of Experience
The petals numbered but degrade to prose
Summer's triumphant poem of the rose.
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL
E. G. DE R.