The rose has distinction from all flowers. The rose is a reflection of love. Different colors of roses enhance the beauty of nature. Here are some beautiful poems about roses that you will surely enjoy.
A Red, Red Rose
By Robert Burns
O my Luve’s like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve’s like the melodie
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve 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 well, my only Luve
And fare thee well, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ it were ten thousand mile.
The Lover Tells of the Rose in His Heart
By W.B. Yeats
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, re-made, like a casket of gold
For my dreams of your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.
To A Friend Who Sent Me Some Roses
As late I rambled in the happy fields,
What time the skylark shakes the tremulous dew
From his lush clover covert; when anew
Adventurous knights take up their dinted shields:
I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields,
A fresh-blown musk-rose, ’twas the first that threw
Its sweets upon the summer: graceful it grew
As in the wand that Queen Titania wields.
And as I feasted on its fragrancy,
I thought the garden-rose it far excelled:
But when, O Wells! thy roses came to me
My sense with their deliciousness was spelled:
Soft voices had they, that with tender plea
Whispered of peace, and truth, and friendliness unquelled.
A Lesson From The Rose Bush
By Howard Carleton Tripp
Beside a limpid stream a rose bush grew;
Its blossoms filled the air with rich perfume,
Upon it fell the summer’s sun and dew,
The autumn gales swept roughly o’er its tomb.
Such are the scenes of life, in childhood’s hours
Hope comes to still the cares within the breast,
And like the rose bush with its flagrant flowers
Old age comes on and we are laid to rest.
The rose bush can this lesson well unfold:
Strive to excel in being good and wise.
Oh, learn it, children, ere thy lives are old!
Neath its foundation all thy glory lies.
The Rose Family
By Robert Frost
The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But the theory now goes
That the apple’s a rose,
And the pear is, and so’s
The plum, I suppose.
The dear only know
What will next prove a rose.
You, of course, are a rose
But were always a rose.
Nobody Knows This Little Rose
By Emily Dickinson
Nobody knows this little Rose
It might a pilgrim be
Did I not take it from the ways
And lift it up to thee.
Only a Bee will miss it
Only a Butterfly,
Hastening from far journey
On its breast to lie –
Only a Bird will wonder
Only a Breeze will sigh
Ah Little Rose – how easy
For such as thee to die!
A White Rose
By John Boyle O’Reilly
The red rose whispers of passion,
And the white rose breathes of love;
Oh, 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.
Wild Rose Tree
By Richard Watson Gilder
On the wild-rose tree
Many buds there be;
Yet each sunny hour
Hath but one fair flower.
Thou who wouldst be mine
Open wide thine eyes
In each sunny hour,
Pluck the one perfect flower.
Here’s A Blush Rose
By L.L. Barkat
Here’s a blush rose,
with raspberry scent.
Here’s a pink,
come taste the edge.
And here, my dear,
upon the stair,
is simply the hip
of a white-blue rose
I’ve carried up
One Perfect Rose
By Dorothy Parker
A single flow’r he sent me, since we met.
All tenderly his messenger he chose;
Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet
One perfect rose.
I knew the language of the floweret;
“My fragile leaves, ” it said, “his heart enclose.”
Love long has taken for his amulet
One perfect rose.
Why is it no one ever sent me yet
One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
Ah no, it’s always just my luck to get
One perfect rose.
My Pretty Rose Tree
By William Blake
A flower was offered to me;
Such a flower as May never bore.
But I said I’ve a Pretty Rose-tree.
And I passed the sweet flower o’er.
Then I went to my Pretty Rose-tree:
To tend her by day and by night.
But my Rose turn’d away with jealousy:
And her thorns were my only delight.
By Sir Walter Scott
“The rose is fairest when ’tis budding new,
And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears;
The rose is sweetest wash’d with morning dew,
And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears.
O wildling rose, whom fancy thus endears,
I bid your blossoms in my bonnet wave,
Emblem of hope and love through future years!”
Thus spoke young Norman, heir of Armandave,
What time the sun arose on Venachar’s broad wave.
The Sick Rose
By William Blake
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.
By Hilda Doolittle
You are clear
O rose, cut in rock,
hard as the descent of hail.
I could scrape the colour
from the petals
like spilt dye from a rock.
If I could break you
I could break a tree.
If I could stir
I could break a tree
I could break you.
O wind, rend open the heat,
cut apart the heat,
rend it to tatters.
Fruit cannot drop
through this thick air
fruit cannot fall into heat
that presses up and blunts
the points of pears
and rounds the grapes.
Cut the heat –
plough through it,
turning it on either side
of your path.
Roses, I See The Sweetest Roses
By Richard Henry Stoddard
Roses, I see the sweetest roses,
As in the cool kiosk I pass.
Tied in a thousand fragrant posies.
And fastened to the roof with grass.
What has bewitched the grass I wonder?
It is the humblest weed that grows;
How comes it that it sits up yonder,
And on a level with the rose?
“Silence! ” The grass said, and in sadness
Let fall its tears in pearls of dew;
“The generous man robs none of gladness.
And never scorns old friends for new.
I am no rose among the roses,
And yet there’s not a child but knows
That the poor grass that tied these posies
Is from the Garden of the rose!”
By Dora Read Goodale
I chanced upon a rose the other day,
A pale and faded flower, forgotten long.
And with it these unfinished verses lay,
The faltering echo of a deeper song:
A perfect day in June, the golden sun
Looks down upon the green and tangled way;
The summer song and silence are as one,
The light and longing of a Summer’s day!
O untaught harmony of Summer days!
The distant tinkle of a waterfall,
The blue blue sky that deepens as you gaze.
The wayward rose that blossoms by the wall!
Unspoiled and sweet in every country lane,
All dewy cool in maiden pink she blooms,
Still green and fragrant thro’ the Summer rain,
When freer airs are thrilled with light perfumes.
She blossoms close beside the dusty way.
Her heart the careless passer-by may see,
Sweet is her fragrance thro’ the burning day,
But sweeter is her open secrecy!
Though he who will may pierce her leafy green,
Where sits the brooding robin on its nest,
The secret of her life is all unseen.
Unknown the impulse of her sweet unrest.
All day the winds about her cool the air.
Faint sounds the tinkle of the waterfall,
What is the sudden answer you may bear,
O wayward rose, that blossoms by the wall?
‘Tis The Last Rose Of Summer
By Thomas Moore
‘Tis the last rose of summer.
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred.
No rosebud, is nigh
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh.
I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one!
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go sleep thou with them.
Thus kindly I scatter
Thy leaves o’er the bed
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.
So soon may I follow,
When friendships decay,
And from love’s shining circle
The gems drop away.
When true hearts lie withered.
And fond ones are flown.
Oh, who would inhabit
This bleak world alone?
By Cynthia Fuller
Today you grasped
the stars as
they were slipping off
the edge of my horizon
and shook them back
into the sky.
can leave me
My skin is alive
with the soft imprint
of your mouth.
How many miracles
can there be?
As I burnt your letters
the pages spread and curled
like fire roses.
The Lesson Of The Rose
By Grace Pearl Bronaugh
I tore a rose apart,
Revealed its inmost heart,
Some hidden secret hoping to disclose.
The leaves fell to the ground;
I bared its heart, but found
No secret hidden, and I spoiled my rose!
No hand but one divine
Could make this rose of mine,
No power but God’s create such loveliness;
But how the roses grow
I know not nor can know;
I only know their beauty is to bless.
O Life which made them live!
O Love which longs to give
All that thy creatures need or can desire!
The feeling overpowers
My soul that in the flowers
Thou gavest even more than we require.
Ye who philosophize
As others botanize,
Who pluck the truth apart shred after shred,
What recompense is there
To pay you for despair
When God forsakes you and your faith lies dead?
There is one Book, but one;
Although the summer sun
Calls forth a million roses every year,
There is one Book, but one!
This dark world were undone
If, like the roses, it should disappear.
Here is the thought which flows
In fragrance from the rose,
The rose which careless fingers pull apart:
Who seeks to penetrate
A thing so delicate
Should come with gentle hands and reverent heart;
Come with a mind devout,
Undaunted by a doubt;
Come with a soul subdued, a faith supreme,
As thou wouldst touch a rose
Softly – He will disclose
To thy hushed heart things which thou canst not dream!
With A Rose
By Charles Henry Webb
Lady, lest they should betray,
On thy lips this rose I lay.
Not its petals to surprise
With a hue that theirs outvies.
Not to shame them to confess
Fragrance of the Rose is less
Only with a rose to seal
Rosebud lips, lest they reveal
Faint unfolding, in their sleep
What a rose’s heart should keep.
Eden since, no wizard knows
Spell that bindeth like the rose
Flower of Love, the last to leave,
Bud that blossomed first for Eve.
With my rose for lock and key
None shall pick thy lips, pardie!
But to me if they unclose
All is safe beneath the rose.
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