Thank you for the beautiful roses.
I really love this thread.
Vicky
I still love this thread.
It probably is my favourite of them all, and so is the rose ,queen of the flowers.
Sue
It probably is my favourite of them all, and so is the rose ,queen of the flowers.
Sue
Flames of passion
reach out to the sun,
in total devotion
to the source of life.
Blushing in delight.
Love, Margherita
I am so fascinated by this winter rose, also by its symbolic meaning.
Doesn't it fit magnificently into this thread of roses?
haiku by Margherita:
Break through your sadness
like a winter rose through snow
feel the sun's warm touch!
My warmest Sunday wishes!
Love,
Margherita
quote:haiku by Margherita:
Break through your sadness
like a winter rose through snow
feel the sun's warm touch!
Thank you Margherita.
Your messages unfold with beauty, like the petals of a rose.
Winter has finally left us, and spring will awaken the new rose, leaving behind the beautiful rose of the winter.
Love, Inda
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Thank you Margherita for bringing back this very beautiful topic of roses. I love your image of the winter rose.
Winter is over, but we still remember the snow covered rose.
Winter’s Rose
When heaven exhales its first icy kiss,
Upon the old sod where beneath he rests,
An ashen hand leaves a winter's rose
When heaven exhales its first icy kiss.
Upon his cold bed in mournful repose
At dawn the blade pierces her sallow breast,
When heaven exhales its first icy kiss
Upon the old sod where beneath he rests.
Upon his cold bed in mournful repose,
One final dream wooed with a lover's bliss,
To wake with the ghost of summer’s caress
Upon his cold bed in mournful repose.
A rose to her heart that heaven might bless,
Palm to smooth ivory, a tightened fist.
Upon his cold bed in mournful repose,
At dawn the blade pierces her sallow breast.
A rose to her heart that heaven might bless.
That, and the dream of a soldiers's last kiss.
Sorrow born bitter from naught she had chose,
A rose to her heart that heaven might bless.
Sorrow born bitter from naught she had chose,
Sounding a cry o'er the twilight myst,
A rose to her heart that heaven might bless,
Palm to smooth ivory, a tightened fist.
jeanne rene 8/04
http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewpoetry.asp?AuthorID=18788&id=119286
Winter is over, but we still remember the snow covered rose.
Winter’s Rose
When heaven exhales its first icy kiss,
Upon the old sod where beneath he rests,
An ashen hand leaves a winter's rose
When heaven exhales its first icy kiss.
Upon his cold bed in mournful repose
At dawn the blade pierces her sallow breast,
When heaven exhales its first icy kiss
Upon the old sod where beneath he rests.
Upon his cold bed in mournful repose,
One final dream wooed with a lover's bliss,
To wake with the ghost of summer’s caress
Upon his cold bed in mournful repose.
A rose to her heart that heaven might bless,
Palm to smooth ivory, a tightened fist.
Upon his cold bed in mournful repose,
At dawn the blade pierces her sallow breast.
A rose to her heart that heaven might bless.
That, and the dream of a soldiers's last kiss.
Sorrow born bitter from naught she had chose,
A rose to her heart that heaven might bless.
Sorrow born bitter from naught she had chose,
Sounding a cry o'er the twilight myst,
A rose to her heart that heaven might bless,
Palm to smooth ivory, a tightened fist.
jeanne rene 8/04
http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewpoetry.asp?AuthorID=18788&id=119286
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It rained last night and this morning the roses were covered in droplets. They looked very fragile and beautiful.
Love,
Vicky
George Eliot
You love the roses - so do I.
I wish the sky would rain down roses, as they rain
From off the shaken bushes,
Why will it not?
Then all the valley would be pink and white
And soft to tread on. They would fall as light
As feathers, smelling sweet and it would be
Like sleeping and yet waking all at once.
Love,
Vicky
George Eliot
You love the roses - so do I.
I wish the sky would rain down roses, as they rain
From off the shaken bushes,
Why will it not?
Then all the valley would be pink and white
And soft to tread on. They would fall as light
As feathers, smelling sweet and it would be
Like sleeping and yet waking all at once.
Thank you Vicky and Sue for bringing back this post.
My roses are also starting to bloom.
Come, come
the Beloved has arrived!
The rosegarden is blooming.
Run and offer your life and the world
to the rising Sun.
Rumi
My roses are also starting to bloom.
Come, come
the Beloved has arrived!
The rosegarden is blooming.
Run and offer your life and the world
to the rising Sun.
Rumi
This beautiful rose is blooming
in my own garden.
Love, Inda
Go not too near a House of Rose -- by Emily Dickinson
Go not too near a House of Rose --
The depredation of a Breeze --
Or inundation of a Dew
Alarms its walls away --
Nor try to tie the Butterfly,
Nor climb the Bars of Ecstasy,
In insecurity to lie
Is Joy's insuring quality.
in my own garden.
Love, Inda
Go not too near a House of Rose -- by Emily Dickinson
Go not too near a House of Rose --
The depredation of a Breeze --
Or inundation of a Dew
Alarms its walls away --
Nor try to tie the Butterfly,
Nor climb the Bars of Ecstasy,
In insecurity to lie
Is Joy's insuring quality.
...The year of the rose is brief;
From the first blade blown to the sheaf,
From the thin green leaf to the gold,
It has time to be sweet and grow old,
To triumph and leave not a leaf
For witness in winter's sight
How lovers once in the light
Would mix their breath with its breath,
And its spirit was quenched not of night,
As love is subdued not of death...
From: The Year of the Rose by Algernon Charles Swinburne
I am waiting for these to open.
They sparkle and light up like the sun.
From the first blade blown to the sheaf,
From the thin green leaf to the gold,
It has time to be sweet and grow old,
To triumph and leave not a leaf
For witness in winter's sight
How lovers once in the light
Would mix their breath with its breath,
And its spirit was quenched not of night,
As love is subdued not of death...
From: The Year of the Rose by Algernon Charles Swinburne
I am waiting for these to open.
They sparkle and light up like the sun.
Ernest Quost
The Rose Tree
'O words are lightly spoken,'
Said Pearse to Connolly,
'Maybe a breath of politic words
Has withered our Rose Tree;
Or maybe but a wind that blows
Across the bitter sea.'
'It needs to be but watered,'
James Connolly replied,
'To make the green come out again
And spread on every side,
And shake the blossom from the bud
To be the garden's pride.'
'But where can we draw water,'
Said Pearse to Connolly,
'When all the wells are parched away?
O plain as plain can be
There's nothing but our own red blood
Can make a right Rose Tree.'
by William Butler Yeats
The Rose Tree
'O words are lightly spoken,'
Said Pearse to Connolly,
'Maybe a breath of politic words
Has withered our Rose Tree;
Or maybe but a wind that blows
Across the bitter sea.'
'It needs to be but watered,'
James Connolly replied,
'To make the green come out again
And spread on every side,
And shake the blossom from the bud
To be the garden's pride.'
'But where can we draw water,'
Said Pearse to Connolly,
'When all the wells are parched away?
O plain as plain can be
There's nothing but our own red blood
Can make a right Rose Tree.'
by William Butler Yeats
I love to cut roses and put them into my room.
It always brightens up the surroundings.
Marcel Schurman
It always brightens up the surroundings.
Marcel Schurman
Time of Roses by Thomas Hood
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!
That churlish season never frown'd
On early lovers yet:
O no—the world was newly crown'd
With flowers when first we met!
'Twas twilight, and I bade you go,
But still you held me fast;
It was the time of roses—
We pluck'd them as we pass'd!
Renoir
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!
That churlish season never frown'd
On early lovers yet:
O no—the world was newly crown'd
With flowers when first we met!
'Twas twilight, and I bade you go,
But still you held me fast;
It was the time of roses—
We pluck'd them as we pass'd!
Renoir
Roses
A sea of broom was on the brae,
A heaven of speedwell lit the way;
But ever as I passed along
Of roses only was my song -
Roses, roses, roses!
They spread their petals, pink and white
Full stretch to feast upon the light;
They pushed each other on the spray
Like children mad with holiday -
Roses, roses, roses!
But as when summer noon is high
A fearful cloud bedims the sky,
A sudden memory of pain
Arises from the bright refrain -
Roses, roses, roses!
I watch a figure to and fro
'Mong summer roses long ago,
Herself a rose as blythe as they -
Alas! how soon they pass away -
Roses, roses, roses!
Walter Wingate
A sea of broom was on the brae,
A heaven of speedwell lit the way;
But ever as I passed along
Of roses only was my song -
Roses, roses, roses!
They spread their petals, pink and white
Full stretch to feast upon the light;
They pushed each other on the spray
Like children mad with holiday -
Roses, roses, roses!
But as when summer noon is high
A fearful cloud bedims the sky,
A sudden memory of pain
Arises from the bright refrain -
Roses, roses, roses!
I watch a figure to and fro
'Mong summer roses long ago,
Herself a rose as blythe as they -
Alas! how soon they pass away -
Roses, roses, roses!
Walter Wingate
Thank you for bringing back this thread Sue.
My roses are also blooming in the garden.
***********************************************
His every quality finds an expression:
Eternity becomes the verdant field of Time and Space;
Love, the life-giving garden of this world.
Every branch and leaf and fruit
Reveals an aspect of His perfection-
They cypress give hint of His majesty,
The rose gives tidings of His beauty.
Rumi
My roses are also blooming in the garden.
***********************************************
His every quality finds an expression:
Eternity becomes the verdant field of Time and Space;
Love, the life-giving garden of this world.
Every branch and leaf and fruit
Reveals an aspect of His perfection-
They cypress give hint of His majesty,
The rose gives tidings of His beauty.
Rumi
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I love this rose thread. It is one of my favourites.
The roses are already blooming and some of them have a wonderful scent.
Love,
Gisele
The roses are already blooming and some of them have a wonderful scent.
Love,
Gisele
Walking in the garden with my lover
I was distracted by a rose.
My love scolded me saying,
"How could you look at a rose
with my face so close?"
Rumi
I was distracted by a rose.
My love scolded me saying,
"How could you look at a rose
with my face so close?"
Rumi
Hidden from all eyes and ears
let us tell each other of our soul.
Smile like a rose with no lips
and keep silent like a thought.
Let us speak silently the secret like Spirit
and avoid talkers who use words in vain...
Rumi
let us tell each other of our soul.
Smile like a rose with no lips
and keep silent like a thought.
Let us speak silently the secret like Spirit
and avoid talkers who use words in vain...
Rumi
Adding more beauty to this thread.
Love,
Sue
Love,
Sue
A Red, Red Rose
O my luve's like a red, red rose.
That's newly sprung in June;
O my luve's like a melodie
That's sweetly play'd in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will love 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 weel my only Luve!
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile!
- Robert Burns
O my luve's like a red, red rose.
That's newly sprung in June;
O my luve's like a melodie
That's sweetly play'd in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will love 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 weel my only Luve!
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile!
- Robert Burns
The Rose with its redolent petals
The Water lily with its robe of virgin white
These have surely come to us in transmigration
Of but a few of those
Endowed with sublime beauty and grace.
Some embrace death to sprout again
But most, forever, in dust remain.
Mirza Ghalib
The Water lily with its robe of virgin white
These have surely come to us in transmigration
Of but a few of those
Endowed with sublime beauty and grace.
Some embrace death to sprout again
But most, forever, in dust remain.
Mirza Ghalib
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Look to the Rose that blows about us -- "Lo,
"Laughing," she says, "into the World I blow:
"At once the silken Tassel of my Purse
"Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."
Omar Khayyam
While the Rose blows along the River Brink,
With old Khayyam and Ruby Vintage drink:
And when the Angel with his darker Draught
Draws up to Thee -- take that, and do not shrink.
"Laughing," she says, "into the World I blow:
"At once the silken Tassel of my Purse
"Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."
Omar Khayyam
While the Rose blows along the River Brink,
With old Khayyam and Ruby Vintage drink:
And when the Angel with his darker Draught
Draws up to Thee -- take that, and do not shrink.
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The Effect of the Draft (from The Secret Rose Garden)
by Mahmud Shabistari
(1250? - 1340) Timeline
English version by
Florence Lederer
Original Language
Persian/Farsi
Muslim / Sufi
13th Century
Intoxicated from the pure draft
which I had drained to the dregs,
in the bare dust I fell.
Since then I don't know if I exist or not;
but I am not sober, nor am I ill or drunken.
Sometimes, like His eye, I am full of joy,
or, like His curl, I am waving;
Sometimes -- alas! -- from habit or nature,
I am lying on a dust heap.
Sometimes, at a glance from Him,
I am back in the Rose Garden.
by Mahmud Shabistari
(1250? - 1340) Timeline
English version by
Florence Lederer
Original Language
Persian/Farsi
Muslim / Sufi
13th Century
Intoxicated from the pure draft
which I had drained to the dregs,
in the bare dust I fell.
Since then I don't know if I exist or not;
but I am not sober, nor am I ill or drunken.
Sometimes, like His eye, I am full of joy,
or, like His curl, I am waving;
Sometimes -- alas! -- from habit or nature,
I am lying on a dust heap.
Sometimes, at a glance from Him,
I am back in the Rose Garden.
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Images (1)
