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.
Francois de Malherbe. In a letter of condolence to M. du Peebieh on the loss of his daughter.
And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies.
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.
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.
D. M. Mom—The White Rose.
While rose-buds scarcely show'd their hue,
But coyly linger'd on the thorn.
Montgomery—The Adventures of a Star.
Two roses on one slender spray
In sweet communion grew,
Together nailed the morning ray
And drank the evening dew.
Montgomery—The Roses.
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.
Moore—The Crystal-Hunters.
Long, long be my heart with such memories fill'd!
Like the vase, iD 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.
Moore—Farewell! but Whenever you Welcome
the Hour.
| seealso = (See also Constant)
| topic = Rose
| page = 680
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>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.
Moore—Lalla Rookh. The Veiled Prophet of
Khorassan.
e
No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh,
To reflect back herblushes,
Or give sigh for sigh.
Moore—Last Rose of Summer.
'Tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone.
Moore—Last Rose of Summer.
What would the rose with all her pride be worth,
Were there no sun to call her brightness forth?
Moores—Love Alone.
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?
Moore—Odes of Anacreon. Ode XXXII.
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.
Moore—Odes of Anacreon. Ode XLIV.
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.
Moore—Odes of Anacreon. Ode LV.
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| topic = Rose
| page = 680
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{{Hoyt quote
| num = 15
| text = The rose distils a healing balm
The beating pulse of pain to calm.
Moore—Odes of Anacreon. Ode LV.
Rose of the Desert! thus should woman be
Shining uncourted, lone and safe, like thee.
Moore—Rose of the Desert.
Rose of the Garden! such is woman's lot—
Worshipp'd while blooming—when she fades,
forgot.
Moore—Rose of the Desert.
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| topic = Rose
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{{Hoyt quote
| num = 15
| text = Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say;
Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?
O rose! the sweetest blossom,
Of spring the fairest flower,
O rose! the joy of heaven.
The god of love, with roses
His yellow locks adorning,
Dances with the hours and graces.
J. G. Percival—Anacreontic. St. 2.
The sweetest flower that blows,
I give you as we part
For you it is a rose
For me it is my heart.
Frederic Peterson—At Parting.
There was never a daughter of Eve but once, ere
the tale of her years be done,
Shall know the scent of the Eden Rose, but once
beneath the sun;
Though the years may bring her joy or pain,
fame, sorrow or sacrifice,
The hour that brought her the scent of the Rose,
she lived it in Paradise.
Susan K. Phillips—The Eden Rose. Quoted
by Kipling in Mrs. Hauksbee Sits it Out.
Published anonymously in St. Lovis Glebe
Democrat, July 13, 1878.
