- Oh, no man knows
- Through what wild centuries
- Roves back the rose.
WALTER DE LA MARE, All That's Past
- I, Woman, am that wonder-breathing rose
- That blossoms in the garden of the King.
ELSA BARKER, The Mystic Rose
- Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say;
- Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?
EDWARD FITZGERALD, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám
- Summer of roses! O empress of flowers!
- You are all I care to know: you and your many sisters.
FRANCIS JAMMES, "Summer of Roses"
- And once I knew a meditative rose
- That never raised its head from bowing down,
- Yet drew its inspiration from the stars.
- It bloomed and faded here beside the road,
- And, being a poet, wrote on empty air
- With fragrance all the beauty of its soul.
HENRY ABBEY, "A Morning Pastoral"
- The petals numbered but degrade to prose
- Summer's triumphant poem of the rose.
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL, E. G. DE R.
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