Go, lovely Rose!
Tell her that wastes her time and me
That now she knows.
When I resemble her to thee,
How sweet and fair she seems to be.
How fair is the Rose! what a beautiful flower.
The glory of April and May!
But the leaves are beginning to fade in an hour,
And they wither and die in a day.
Yet the Rose has one powerful virtue to boast,
Above all the flowers of the field;
When its leaves are all dead, and fine colours are lost,
Still how sweet a perfume it will yield!
The rosebuds lay their crimson lips together.
Let us crown ourselves with rosebuds before they be withered.
The budding rose above the rose full blown.
Wordsworth—The Prelude. Bk. XL
Far off, most secret, and inviolate Rose,
Enfold me in my hour of hours; where those
Who sought thee in the Holy Sepulchre
Or in the wine vat, dwell beyond the stir
And tumult of defeated dreams.
W. B. Yeats—Thei
ROSE, MUSK
Rosa Moschata
I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields,
A fresh-blown musk-rose; 'twas the first that threw
Its sweets upon the summer.
Keats—To a Friend who Sent some Roses.
And mid-May's eldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eyes.
Keats—Ode to a Nightingale.
ROSE, SWEETBRIER
(Eglantine), Rosa Rubiginosa
The fresh eglantine exhaled a breath,
Whose odours were of power to raise from death.
Dryden—The Flower and the Leaf. L. 96.
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.
Rain-scented eglantine
Gave temperate sweets to that woll-wooing sun.
Keats—Endymion. Bk. I. L. 100.
Its sides I'll plant with dew-sweet eglantine.
Keats—Endymion. Bk. IV. L. 700.
As through the verdant maze
Of sweetbriar hedges I pursue my walk;
Or taste the smell of dairy.
Thomson—The Seasons. Spring. L. 105.
The garden rose may richly bloom
In cultured soil and genial air,
To cloud the light of Fashion's room
Or droop in Beauty's midnight hair,
In lonelier grace, to sun and dew
The sweetbrier on the hillside shows
Its single leaf and fainter hue,
Untrained and wildly free, yet still a sister rose!
Whittier—The Bride of Pennacook. Pt. III.
The Daughter.
ROSE, WILD
Rosa Lucirta
A wild rose roofs the ruined shed,
And that and summer well agree.
Coleridge—A Day Dream.
A brier rose, whose buds
Yield fragrant harvest for the honey bee.
L. E. Landon—The Oak. L. 17.
A waft from the roadside bank
Tells where the wild rose nods.
Bayard Taylor—The Guests of Night.
ROSEMARY
Rosmarinus
Dreary rosmarye
That always mourns the dead.
Hood—Flowers.
The humble rosemary
Whose sweets so thanklessly are shed
To scent the desert and the dead.
Moore—Lalta Rookh. Light of the Harem.
There's rosemary, that's for remembrance.
Hamlet. Act IV. Sc. 5. L. 175. </poem>
ROYALTY
Ten poor men sleep in peace on one straw heap, as Saadi sings.
But the immensest empire is too narrow for two
Wm. R. Alger—Oriental Poetry. Elbow Room.
Princes are like to heavenly bodies, which
cause good or evil times; and which have much
veneration, but no rest.
Bacon—Essays. Of Empire.
Malheureuse France! Malheureux roi!
Unhappy France! Unhappy king!
Etifnne Bequet. Heading in the Journal
des D6lxiis, when Charles X. was driven
from the throne.
