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Rose
Poetry
We
couldn't have articles about roses without including poetry about them.
The sweet sounding melodies of poetry lilting with the imaginings of
roses is music to our senses, in all aspects . . .
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A Red, Red Rose
O my
luve's like a red, red rose.
That's newly sprung in June;
O
my luve's like a melodie
That's sweetly play'd in tune.
As
fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And
I will love thee still, my Dear,
Till a'the seas gang dry.
Till
a' the seas gang dry, my Dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun:
I
will luve thee still, my Dear,
While the sands o'life shall
run.
And fare thee weel my only Luve!
And
fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho'
it were ten thousand mile!
~ Robert Burns
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The Rose in the Deeps of His Heart
All
things uncomely and broken,
all things worn-out and old,
The
cry of a child by the roadway,
the creak of a lumbering
cart,
The heavy steps of the ploughman,
splashing
the wintry mould,
Are wronging your image that blossoms
a
rose in the deeps of my heart.
The wrong of
unshapely things
is a wrong too great to be told;
I
hunger to build them anew
and sit on a green knoll apart,
With
the earth and the sky and the water,
remade, like a casket
of gold
For my dreams of your image that blossoms
a
rose in the deeps of my heart.
~ William
Butler Yeats |
A White Rose
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.
But
I send you a cream-white rosebud
With a flush on its petal
tips;
For the love that is purest and sweetest
Has a
kiss of desire on the lips.
~ JB
O’Reilly |
The Rose Family
The rose
is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But now the
theory goes
That the apple's a rose,
And the pear
is, and so's
The plum, I suppose.
The dear only
knows
What will next prove a rose.
You, of
course, are a rose
But were always a rose.
~
Robert Frost |
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