‘Twas a yellow rose,
By that south window of the little house,
My cousin Romney gathered with his hand
Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Aurora Leigh, Book VI.
And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies.
Christopher Marlowe, stanza 3 of The Passionate Shepherd to his Love.
But ne’er the rose without the thorn.
Robert Herrick, The Rose.
When love came first to earth, the Spring
Spread rose-beds to receive him.
Thomas Campbell, song.“When Love Came First to Earth.”
What would the rose with all her pride be worth,
Were there no sun to call her brightness forth?
Thomas Moore, song, “Love Alone,” Sacred Songs
Wild-rose, Sweetbriar, Eglantine,
All these pretty names are mine,
And scent in every leaf is mine,
And a leaf for all is mine,
And the scent—Oh, that’s divine!
Happy-sweet and pungent fine,
Pure as dew, and pick’d as wine.
Leigh Hunt, Songs and Chorus of the Flowers, Sweetbriar.
It was not in the winter
Our loving lot was cast:
It was the time of roses
We pluck’d them as we pass’d.
Thomas Hood, ballad, “It was not in the Winter.”
The rose saith in the dewy morn,
I am most fair;
Yet all my loveliness is born
Upon a thorn.
Christina G. Rossetti, poem, “Consider the Lilies of the Field.”
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, Ode XLIV in Odes of Anacreon.
Oh, my Luve is like a red, red rose,
That’s newly sprung in June.
Robert Burns, “A Red, Red Rose,” in Posthumous Pieces
A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose
Gertrude Stein, poem, “Sacred Emily”
