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[ Also see Flowers Musk Roses Plants Sweetbrier Roses Wild Roses ]

The roses that in yonder hedge appear
  Outdo our garden-buds which bloom within;
    But since the hand may pluck them every day,
      Unmarked they bud, bloom, drop, and drift away.
      - Jean Ingelow, The Four Bridges (st. 61)

Mild May's eldest child, the coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, the murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
      - John Keats (1)

The vermeil rose had blown
  In frightful scarlet, and its thorns outgrown
    Like spiked aloe.
      - John Keats (1), Endymion (bk. I, l. 694)

But the rose leaves herself upon the brier,
  For winds to kiss and grateful bees to feed.
      - John Keats (1), On Fame

Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say;
  Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?
      - Omar Khayyam ("The Tent-Maker"),
        The Rubaiyat, (FitzGerald's translation)

Woo on, with odour wooing me,
  Faint rose with fading core;
    For God's rose-thought, that blooms in thee,
      Will bloom forevermore.
      - George MacDonald,
        Songs of the Summer Night (pt. III)

But she bloomed on earth, where the most beautiful things have the saddest destiny;
  And rose, she lived as live the roses, for the space of a morning.
    [Fr., Mais elle etait du mond, ou les plus belles choses
      Ont le pire destin;
        Et Rose, elle a vecu ce que vivent les roses,
          L'espece d'un matin.]
      - Francois de Malherbe,
        in a letter of condolence to M. du Perrier on the loss of his daughter

And I will make the beds of roses.
      - Christopher Marlowe

And I will make thee beds of roses,
  And a thousand fragrant posies.
      - Christopher Marlowe,
        The Passionate Shepherd to his Love
         (st. 3),
        said to be written by Shakespeare and Marlowe

Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose.
      - John Milton, Paradise Lost
         (bk. IV, l. 256)

Rose of the desert! thou art to me
  An emblem of stainless purity,--
    Of those who, keeping their garments white,
      Walk on through life with steps aright.
      - David Macbeth Moir (known as Delta),
        The White Rose

Two roses on one slender spray
  In sweet communion grew,
    Together hailed the morning ray
      And drank the evening dew.
      - James Montgomery, The Roses

While rose-buds scarcely show'd their hue,
  But coyly linger'd on the thorn.
      - James Montgomery, The Roses

Long, long be my heart with such memories fill'd!
  Like the vase, in which roses have once been distill'd--
    You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will,
      But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.
      - Thomas Moore,
        Farewell! but Whenever you Welcome the Hour

There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream,
  And the nightingale sings round it all the day long,
    In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream,
      To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song.
      - Thomas Moore,
        Lalla Rookh--The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan

No flower of her kindred,
  No rosebud is nigh,
    To reflect back her blushes,
      Or give sigh for sigh.
      - Thomas Moore, Last Rose of Summer

'Tis the last rose of summer,
  Left blooming alone.
      - Thomas Moore, Last Rose of Summer

What would the rose with all her pride be worth,
  Were there no sun to call her brightness forth?
      - Thomas Moore, Love Alone

Oh! there is naught in nature bright
  Whose roses do not shed their light;
    When morning paints the Orient skies,
      Her fingers burn with roseate dyes.
      - Thomas Moore, Odes of Anacreon--Ode LV

The rose distils a healing balm
  The beating pulse of pain to calm.
      - Thomas Moore, Odes of Anacreon--Ode LV

Rose! thou art the sweetest flower,
  That ever drank the amber shower;
    Rose! thou art the fondest child
      Of dimpled Spring, the wood-nymph wild.
      - Thomas Moore, Odes of Anacreon--Ode XLIV

Why do we shed the rose's bloom
  Upon the cold, insensate tomb?
    Can flowery breeze, or odor's breath,
      Affect the slumbering chill of death?
      - Thomas Moore, Odes of Anacreon--Ode XXXII

Rose of the Desert! Thus should woman be
  Shining uncourted, lone and safe, like thee.
      - Thomas Moore, Rose of the Desert

Rose of the Garden! such is woman's lot--
  Worshipp'd while blooming--when she fades, forgot.
      - Thomas Moore, Rose of the Desert

Sometimes, when on the Alpine rose
  The golden sunset leaves its ray,
    So like a gem the flow'ret glows,
      We thither bend our headlong way;
        And though we find no treasure there,
          We bless the rose that shines so fair.
      - Thomas Moore, The Crystal-Hunters

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