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Givnology Wellness Arts
May you find yourself in the world…and may you enjoy the company!
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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  • winterrose
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


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  • winter_rose
Last edited by Vicky2
It rained last night and this morning the roses were covered in droplets. They looked very fragile and beautiful.

Vicky 2Hearts

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.

Last edited by Vicky2
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.
Last edited by Inda
...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.
Last edited by Inda
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
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!


Last edited by Vicky2
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

Last edited by Sue 1
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.



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  • rosedrooping
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

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.


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Last edited by Inda
The Effect of the Draft (from The Secret Rose Garden)
by Mahmud Shabistari
(1250? - 1340) Timeline

English version by
Florence Lederer

Original Language
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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  • rosedavidaustin

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