The Chrysanthemum
A Rose-tree, all ablush with opening flowers,
Just nodded to the heliotrope and pink,
Greeted the lilies by the fountain's brink
And curtseyed toward the jasmine's star-wreathed bowers.
She then perceived a plant which, in the hours
Since May-time blossoms blew and bobolink
Sang blithely, constant grew, yet seemed to drink
No beauty from spring sun or summer showers.
Scornful, she tossed her head, but soothingly
Dame Nature to the plant dishonored said:
"Time conquereth
The proud. Yon rose her petaled pomps shall see
Torn rudely by the Frost-King's icy breath,
When life luxuriant shall throb in thee,
And blossom in the very midst of death!"
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Last Rose Of The Fall
Her pink petals strewn upon the grass beside her mother tree
In full bloom a thing of Nature so beautiful to see
Where the gleaners of Nature's decay grubs, slugs and insects crawl
Last week she looked so beautiful the last rose of the Fall.
So bare and thorny looking without her leaves and flowers
The rose tree looks forlorn in the cool Autumn showers
Next Summer again pink roses she will wear
The rose tree in bloom has a beauty that's rare.
The beauty of Nature is seen Worldwide
In town parks and gardens and in the countryside
And Nature herself she lives on every shore
The one destined to live forever more.
For the gleaners of Nature who live on decay
The beautiful rose petals on the grass lay
But the rose whose life span can be measured in hours
Her fate it is not any different to ours.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Three Songs Of Shattering
I
The first rose on my rose-tree
Budded, bloomed, and shattered,
During sad days when to me
Nothing mattered.
Grief of grief has drained me clean;
Still it seems a pity
No one saw,—it must have been
Very pretty.
II
Let the little birds sing;
Let the little lambs play;
Spring is here; and so 'tis spring;—
But not in the old way!
I recall a place
Where a plum-tree grew;
There you lifted up your face,
And blossoms covered you.
If the little birds sing,
And the little lambs play,
Spring is here; and so 'tis spring—
But not in the old way!
III
All the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree!
Ere spring was going—ah, spring is gone!
And there comes no summer to the like of you and me,—
Blossom time is early, but no fruit sets on.
All the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree,
Browned at the edges, turned in a day;
And I would with all my heart they trimmed a mound for me,
And weeds were tall on all the paths that led that way!
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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Unopened rose
At first glance,
An unopened rose never shows its true beauty
At first try,
It’s impossible to touch a shooting star
The first time we’ve met,
I didn’t know how gorgeous you could be
Just like the unopened rose,
I know after time, the unopened rose turns into a beautiful rose
A shooting may never be touched,
But it’s possible to get closer
A shooting star comes and goes once in a while
And I know it’s impossible to bring it for you
But if you get the chance to glance at it,
You will know what beauty is.
Also an unopened rose bloom once in a while
But each time the rose is in blossom,
You can really appreciate the beauty of it
Just like an unopened rose,
You are my unopened rose,
Some one who you deeply want to meet and keep meeting
Just like the rose opening with each day that passes,
you become more precious each day to me
But unlike an unopened rose that comes and goes,
You will stay forever in my heart and mind.
poem by Carlos Wever
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What do we plant when we plant a tree?
What do we get when we plant the tree?
We plant the ship which will cross the sea;
We plant the pencils to scribble our notes,
We plant the ballots to cast our votes;
We plant the paper in which we read,
The news that o'er wooden poles we speed,
We plant the piles to erect our docks;
We plant the rayon for shirts and socks.
What do we plant when we plant a tree?
We plant the houses for you and me;
We plant the rafters, the shingles, the floors,
We plant the studding, the lath, the doors,
The beams and siding, all the parts that be;
We plant the house when we plant the tree,
We plant the barrel, the box, the crate;
In which to ship all sorts of freight.
What do we plant when we plant a tree?
A thousand things that we daily see,
We plant the spire that out-towers the crag,
We plant the staff for our country's flag;
We plant the shade from the hot sun free,
We plant all these when we plant the tree.
poem by Henry Abbey
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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My Daughter Tanya
My Daughter Tanya
In my dreams I saw a gorgeous Pink rose
Heavenly soul wanted me to have it in my garden
I woke up and started thinking of it
Winter came and the weather grew cold
Beautiful single rose grew out of moist soil
Rain water harvested my rose well
It grew straight bloomed in spring
Flourished in summer
Scent was lovely everyone knew
Petals were very soft and shiny
Little rose bud was clad in pink petals
You were sent to me from God,
In the shape of gorgeous pink rose
With the sweetness of all honey bees
As soon as spring revealed itself.
I found Pink rose in my house
Its beauty gave me a sense of power
Its presence gave me the taste of mother hood
I have made it comprehensible
This is you my elder daughter Tanya
I love you dear
poem by Dr Shamim ali
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The Rose-plant
A plant bore roses ten in number all,
And two got nipped when young by Nature’s way;
One blossomed to adorn God’s celestial throne;
Six bloomed becoming beauteous flowers big,
To put forth seed that fell on fertile soil,
That grew into rose-plants like their parents.
One still remains a flower big on mother-plant:
Weathered a bit, perfuming her landscape;
She yearned but could not turn into a seed!
Nevertheless, she bowed to Divine Will.
The soil was good in which the rose-plant grew,
Watered by rain and bathed by sun for years;
God’s grace and mercy nurtured her growth-curve;
Life’s storms and strife could not up-root the plant.
The mother-plant is very old in age;
Her life-partner left years back to God’s Home;
She lives by sheer will-pow’r, amidst her own,
And thanks the Maker for blessing her life;
God’s plans and ways are strange and mysterious;
Yet, earthlings must abide by Will Divine;
God gives us freedom to decide and act;
But Heaven must remain our goal always.
poem by John Celes
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The Rose-Bush
There was a rose-bush in a garden growing,
Its tender leaves unfolding day by day;
The sun looked-on, and his down-going
Left it amid the starlit dusk of nights of May.
The dew-drop came and kissed it in the gloaming;
It gathered sweetness in the morning hours;
The bee beheld it as he went aroaming,
And thought, 'What honey will be hidden in its flowers!'
The light grew richer and the days grew long;
The May-time deepened into June;
The air was laden with the robin's song,
The light wind touched the leaves and set them atune.
And now a tiny bud appeared, and then another--
Bright promises of radiant flowers;
The breezes, whispering, told it to each other,
The rose-bush heard them in the gladsome hours.
New Hope awoke and thrilled in all it veins;
Life is so sweet that culminates in flowers!
It smiled and grew in misty summer rains,
And caught the freshness of the evening showers.
And oft the gardener came and stood beside;
He tended it alway with zealous care,
Watching lest any evil should betide,
Or blight creep o'er the leaves that grew so fair.
He crushed the buds and dropped them on the ground;
The rose-bush felt a chill in every vein;
It drooped, as if to hide each bitter wound--
This strange experience was its earliest thought of pain.
'Poor little plant,' the gardener thought,
Thou art too young, too young to know
That few buds unto flowers are brought,--
It is by pruning thou must grow.'
And still the summer smiled and shoned,
And other roses bloomed and died.
'Mine would more beauteously have blown,'
The little rose-bush sadly sighed.
Again the gardener sought his flowers,
Where he had watched his treasures blow:
The autumn blast has swept the bowers,
The winds and storms has laid them low!
Though sad of heart, the rose-bush still was green;
It lifted up its drooping head;
'The life that would have filled the buds may still be seen,
'Tis folded in its heart,' he said.
He stooped and took it from the ground
All trembling with its vague alarms,
And quick and tenderly he wrapped it round,
And kindly bore it in his arms.
And now where soft the sunshine flows,
Within a fair, immortal bower,
In all its fragrant beauty blooms the rose,
Its every bud grown into perfect flower.
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Wayward Rose
Mischievous rose from the rose-tree swaying,
Can I not bind thee nor hold thee?
Can I not weave thee nor fold thee
In with thy sisters to staying?
Vain is my passion or praying,
Rose from the rose-tree swaying.
Wayward sweet rose from the rose-tree swinging,
Can I not pass thee, forget thee?
Can I not see to regret thee?
In—'mid thy kindred's close ringing,
Out—to my heart she comes winging,
Rose from the rose-tree swinging.
Cruel red rose from the rose-tree swaying,
Ever to worship thee, throne thee,
Never to lose thee or own thee,
Thy beauty to keep me from straying,
Thy thorns for my passionate praying,
Rose from the rose-tree swaying.
poem by Dora Sigerson Shorter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Rose Intoxication!
Queen of flowers rose is always a fascination!
Rose is symbol of passionate love cheers mood!
Rose lady gives great pride to be with anywhere!
Special respect to rose never changes anywhere;
Red rose, pink rose and even blue rose are there
Occupying a pride of place none can have ever!
Bouquet of rose flowers elates anyone to dizziness!
A special gift indeed rose flowers makes to all!
A single rose is enough to make one grand to look
Instead of a big cluster of flowers of jasmine or lily!
Scent of rose remains fresh in mind wherever one is;
Such a unique flower rose how can anyone ignore
Whether it is in the garden or lies on a wayward side!
Now after seeing rose and read on rose I am intoxicated..!
poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Disgarded Garden
Their once was a young man who wanted to become a Gardner. There once was a young Rose Tree that wanted a Gardener. They met each other one summer day and began what seemed to be a beautiful relationship. The Gardner was attentive of his garden along with his Rose Tree and the Rose Tree was so happy that its tender branches grew and it bloomed continuously for the Gardner so he’d always be happy.
As time went by the Rose Tree noticed that Gardner wouldn’t tend to her as much as he once did. And when he did he would cut away harshly at the Rose Tree. The Rose Tree being a simple plant who did not need much attention still bloomed for the Gardner. It seemed the more she tried, the more the Gardner would cut away and the tree was now nestled in the ground. Why could this be? He had a bountiful garden that any Gardner would have loved to have. What more could anyone want thought the Rose Tree.
Now in an abandoned garden the Rose Tree grows back its branches, with very thick thorn’s to protect it self. As time goes by one day, out of nowhere appears a Gardener who has silently admired the Rose Tree from outside the garden gates and begins to nurture the Rose Tree in her garden. He tenderly and sympathetically pulls away all the weeds and brush from the Rose Tree so the air, rain & sunshine can reach her again. Allowing her the opportunity to grow back as she once was; vibrant, strong, colorful and to be simply, herself.
This is something the Rose Tree had long forgotten and is very grateful for the loving words of encouragement and kindness that her new Gardner has shown. She longingly awaits for his visits and when the Gardner comes to see her she bloom’s for him and relaxes underneath his beautifully kind smile. My darling Gardner, I am glad fate has brought you to walk along the path leading to the once lost garden and Rose Tree.
poem by Sarah Barron
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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August The Thirtieth
The sky overcast the rain comes down in drizzle August the thirtieth the date of today
This time tomorrow yes this time tomorrow Spring will be just a few hours away
Some birds are nest building others on their eggs sitting male magpie is piping on the stringybark tree
At this time of year he attacks without warning even humans who venture near his territory.
The clock on the Winter is ticking and ticking time on anyone or anything does not wait
Fragile pink blossoms on the fruit trees in the garden such things of beauty that Nature create
Spring brings her youth to this Southern Country spreading her greenery everywhere she goes
Wildflowers by the creek are coming to bloom now pink on the buds amongst the thorns of the rose
August the thirtieth the Winter is dying Spring is a beautiful time of the year
White flowers in clusters amongst the pittosporums the flute of the butcherbird pleasant to hear
Everyday nearer to bloom and to sunshine the year one might say fast aproaching it's prime
Winter is dying the year's coldest Season Spring brings her green with her fresh and warm clime.
August the thirtieth the second last day of the Winter rain fall in drizzle from an overcast sky
Pink flowers are fading upon the camellias blooms of the Winter in early Spring die
The Goddess of Spring she is quickly approaching over the cliffs of the southern bay
On this time tomorrow from this Southern Country she will be only a few hours away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Life Blossoms into vitality
Petals blossoms into flowers,
Clouds blossom into rain,
Seeds blossoms into trees,
Minutes blossom into hours,
Bricks blossom into dwellings,
Anger blossoms into destruction,
Exuberance blossoms into newness,
Nervousness blossoms into exhaustion,
Teamwork blossoms into unity,
Perseverance blossoms into success,
Beauty blossoms into enchantment,
Intrigue blossoms into enigma,
Trends blossom into innovations,
Eggs blossom into fledglings,
Rose blossoms into scent,
Sun blossoms into optimism,
Stars blossom into radiation,
Soil blossoms into vegetation,
Art blossoms into exoticism,
Ice blossoms into waterfalls,
Fire blossoms into compassion,
Imagination blossoms into concepts,
Wine blossoms into sedation,
War blossoms into hatred,
Pearls blossom into resplendence,
Dreams blossom into floatation,
Fashion blossoms into style,
Roots blossom into stem,
Salt blossoms into tanginess,
Strength blossoms into fortitude,
Resilience blossoms into conviction,
Surrender blossoms into despair,
Truth blossoms into harmony,
Relationships blossom into empathy,
Violence blossoms into prejudice,
Discrimination blossoms into bloodshed,
Scalp blossoms into hair,
Love blossoms into passion,
Peace blossoms into solidarity,
Rainbow blossoms into vivacity,
Endeavor blossoms into sweetness,
Tunes blossom into songs,
Mind blossoms into ingenuity,
Wilderness blossoms into mysticism,
Flames blossom into ardor,
Corpses blossom into ghosts,
Retreat blossoms into sadness,
Bondage blossoms into rebel,
Faith blossoms into worship,
Infidelity blossoms into nemesis,
Idiosyncrasy blossoms into nothingness,
Spiders blossom into webs,
Benevolence blossoms into humanity,
Independence blossoms into character,
Renunciation blossoms into divine,
Introspection blossoms into discovering,
Emotions blossom into yearning,
Death blossoms into extinction,
And life blossoms into vitality…..
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Chanson
A RING of gold and a milk-white dove
Are goodly gifts for thee,
And a hempen rope for your own love
To hang upon a tree.
For you a House of Ivory
(Roses are white in the rose-bower)!
A narrow bed for me to lie
(White, O white, is the hemlock flower)!
Myrtle and jessamine for you
(O the red rose is fair to see)!
For me the cypress and the rue
(Fairest of all is rose-mary)!
For you three lovers of your hand
(Green grass where a man lies dead)!
For me three paces on the sand
(Plant lilies at my head)!
poem by Oscar Wilde
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The Flowers I See
The belladonna in the valley, so magical in purple, so deadly within me, the nightshade thou possess, and in thee my life fade. The amaryllis in mine soul, thy scarlet leaf haunts me, for in thy scarlet stained grief, mine love and life I see. The blossom canna even thee! with lips stained with vice, from the vice of pleasure you chose, to create the beauty of thine treasure for our souls to greed. The begonia of beauty delicious thy beauty leave, and like all beauty thou deceive, the love pregnant in me. The oriental poppy, thy aroma helps me to sleep and dream of colors as vivid as thee and as unreal as thy petals be, unreal my dreams of thee. O fairy blossoms, in pink and white wing, inside thy petals the butterfly dwells and the spring ferries sing. Ah! there is the rose, with all its beauty in she which grows, wins the hearts of all whom know, that in the rose our love to doth grow. Still all these flowers look pale next to she, the panther in brown, with eyes of ebony, whom stares at me and sees flowers in my gleaming eye and preys on me before I die.
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Birth of Spring (Constanza)
April graces us with showers,
As cold snows melt, their wintry scene
Is changed to many shades of green.
From tender shoots, soon, Spring flowers.
Apollo's face is golden fair....
The scent of spring is in the air.
As blossoms float down from bowers
When gusts of April breezes blow,
They spread below like golden snow.
I delight and watch for hours,
For truly at this time of year
I feel God's presence dwelling here.
Blessed and touched by divine powers.
The joy of springtime here on Earth
Is felt with every flower's birth.
April graces us with showers,
From tender shoots, soon, Spring flowers.
As blossoms float down from bowers
I delight and watch for hours,
Blessed and touched by divine powers.
poem by Connie Marcum Wong
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Last Rose Of Summer
Throughout the soft and timeless days of august
til now the shadows begin to grow much longer
The sunsets fire has deepened blood red
I give you this, the last rose of summer
A token of my unyielding love
So when the winters mantle stills the earth
And all around seems dead and cold
This rose reminds you of a time when all was warm and living
Do not despair, mother nature simply rests
In sleep she has well earned
til one day not so very far from now
With the opening of the first rose buds I shall return
A token of my unyielding love
So that when winters mettle steals the earth
And all around seems dead and cold
This rose reminds you of a time when all was warm and living
The last rose of summer
The last rose of summer
In your long shadows
The last rose of summer
In the sunset
The last rose of summer
Take this rose that I give you
The last rose of summer
The last rose of summer
Dont worry about the winter
The last rose of summer
I shall return
The last rose of summer
The last rose of summer
(fade)
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spring.
'Let the light rain on her, the sweet Spring, till
She teems with greenery in the warm air,
Flower-hued, and vocal with the tender joy
Of bleating lambs and young birds on the wing.'
Thus on the cold hill doth the herdsman pray
Beneath his frozen star; the milkmaid, too,
As her raw hands take up the milking-pail,
And the wind freezes in the red dawn near: —
'Come, Spring, earth's sap, and mount in me until
I bloom, a rose of love: smile in mine eyes
Till my love from his wintry hill shall see
The star of youth, and leap into my arms!
O Spring, sweet Spring! but hear my prayer, and I
Shall build thee bowers of roses on the hill,
And all the summer there with bird and bee
Shall joy feast in the beauty of our love!'
Thus do they chant the wintry time away
In hill and vale, the two who look to when
The warmth of beauty takes life's wonder on,
And the rose of the flesh shall bloom for them.
poem by Robert Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song of The Rose
F Zeus chose us a King of the flowers in his mirth,
He would call to the rose, and would royally crown it;
For the rose, ho, the rose! is the grace of the earth,
Is the light of the plants that are growing upon it!
For the rose, ho, the rose! is the eye of the flowers,
Is the blush of the meadows that feel themselves fair,
Is the lightning of beauty that strikes through the bowers
On pale lovers that sit in the glow unaware.
Ho, the rose breathes of love! ho, the rose lifts the cup
To the red lips of Cypris invoked for a guest!
Ho, the rose having curled its sweet leaves for the world
Takes delight in the motion its petals keep up,
As they laugh to the wind as it laughs from the west.
The Morning of Love
O! The spring-time of life is the season of blooming,
And the morning of love is the season of joy;
Ere noontide and summer, with radiance consuming,
Look down on their beauty, to parch and destroy.
0! faint are the blossoms life's pathway adorning,
When the first magic glory of hope is withdrawn;
For the flowers of the spring, and the light of the morning,
Have no summer budding, and no second dawn.
Through meadows all sunshine, and verdure, and flowers
The stream of the valley in purity flies;
But mixed with the tides, where some proud city lowers,
O! where is the sweetness that dwelt on its rise ?
The rose withers fast-on the breast it first graces;
Its beauty is fled ere the day be half done:--
And life is that stream which its progress defaces,
And love is that flower which can bloom but for one.
poem by Thomas Love Peacock
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In February
Rich meanings of the prophet-Spring adorn,
Unseen, this colourless sky of folded showers,
And folded winds; no blossom in the bowers;
A poet's face asleep in this grey morn.
Now in the midst of the old world forlorn
A mystic child is set in these still hours.
I keep this time, even before the flowers,
Sacred to all the young and the unborn.
To all the miles and miles of unsprung wheat,
And to the Spring waiting beyond the portal,
And to the future of my own young art,
And, among all these things, to you, my sweet,
My friend, to your calm face and the immortal
Child tarrying all your life-time in your heart.
poem by Alice Meynell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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