En.Citatepedia^®.ro

To Margaret W

Margaret, in happy hour,
Christen'd from that humble flower
Which we a daisy call!
May thy pretty name-sake be
In all things a type of thee,
And image thee in all.

Like it you show a modest face,
An unpretending native grace; —
The tulip, and the pink,
The china and the damask rose,
And every flaunting flower that blows,
In the comparing shrink.

Of lowly fields you think no scorn;
Yet gayest gardens would adorn,
And grace, wherever set.
Home-seated in your lonely bower,
Or wedded — a transplanted flower —
I bless you, Margaret!

poem by Charles Lamb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Flowers for You

The future is a lot like choosing a flower to send.
If I've used this analogy before, I will make amend.
What type of flower should I send to you my dear?
Rose, Daisy, Tulip, a combination, it is still not clear.

The flower of choice for her is the Tulip you see.
The red Tulip means a declaration of love on bended knee.
Generally speaking, Tulips mean the perfect lover.
Oh no, by sending them to you, I've blown my cover.

Take care of your Tulips with love and compassion.
Their beauty will remind you of one who has passion.
Allow my water to quench your flower's thirst.
Fill your heart with my love until it should burst.

poem by Manager Poet
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Pink Flowers.

Do not text me or think otherwise
I am just picking flowers from my garden.
Last evening I picked a red rose but
Wow! It proved to be too red for my date
Today I visited the same garden
The only flower I found was a white rose.
Where is my favourite pink rose?

This morning I cycled to the market
Sure, to buy my date a pink rose
But the only roses there were yellow and purple.
Tried to enquire where I could get one
But no one knows where to find.
Went to my flower vendor but nowhere to find
Where will I get my pink rose for my date?

Tomorrow, I'll travel far and wide
Only to get this precious pink flower
And if I succeed, my date will be happy
And my heart will find a solace rest
Amidst the residue of love petals
Just with the pink flower petals.
Where will I get my Pink rose flower?

(Dedicated for my pink flower date)

poem by Aron Lelei
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pretty Flower

Truly thou lovest pretty flowers,
For pretty flower, thyself, thou art.
May I, if tenderly I pluck thee,
Make fast thy tendrils to my heart—
Pretty Flower?

And should Fate deem thee answer, pluck me!
Would one of meager courage dare
To place the hand he feels unworthy
Upon a spotless lily, fair,
Pretty Flower?

poem by Raymond Garfield Dandridge
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A Flower Today A Flower Tommorow

A flower today, A flower tomorrow

I'll give you a flower, for everyday that I know you,
A rose, A daisy, maybe a dafadil to.
For if you take the flower I know how you feel,
For you know it to, you'll keep them aseel
I'll hold your hand gently, carrasing your thumb
and if you deny it i know i'll grow numb.
Hold me gently and hold me good.
because i don't want you misunderstood.

I'll give you a flower tomorrow, to show you i still care,
and if you reject it i know its not fair.
i loved you forever and i always will
for this rose that i give will stay very still
Until you love me the rose will not die.
But when you do theres no need to ask why

poem by Yascel Rodriguez
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Little Flower Of Mine

Spring has come once more
with a gentle wind in the rays of the sun.
Here stands a little flower among the country plains.
Little flower of mine,
You’re the rose among lilies that blossoms in all its grace.

Little flower of mine
I love your radiance of red,
and your quiet strength amid the storm.
Little flower of mine,
inspite of wind and rain you grew and grew still.

Little flower of mine
you’re the apple of mine eye,
you’re the flower that never dies.
Little flower of mine,
You’re my inspiration and joy indeed.

poem by Lyndon Murray
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The Yellow Violet

When beechen buds begin to swell,
And woods the blue-bird's warble know,
The yellow violet's modest bell
Peeps from last-year's leaves below.

Ere russet fields their green resume,
Sweet flower, I love, in forest bare,
To meet thee, when thy faint perfume
Alone is in the virgin air.

Of all her train, the hands of Spring
First plant thee in the watery mould,
And I have seen thee blossoming
Beside the snow-bank's edges cold.

Thy parent sun, who bade thee view
Pale skies, and chilling moisture sip
Has bathed thee in his own bright hue,
And streaked with jet thy glowing lip.

Yet slight thy form, and low thy seat,
And earthward bent thy gentle eye,
Unapt the passing view to meet,
When loftier flowers are flaunting nigh.

Oft, in the sunless April day,
Thy early smile has stayed my walk;
But midst the gorgeous blooms of May
I passed thee on thy humple stalk.

So they, who climb to wealth, forget
The friends in darker fortunes tried;
I copied them--but I regret
That I should ape the ways of pride.

And when again the genial hour
Awakes the painted tribes of light,
I'll not o'er look the modest flower
That made the woods of April bright.

poem by William Cullen Bryant
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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More Pretty Than A Flower

More pretty than a flower you are to me,
when in the morning you pass in the road,
when you hair shines, when I get a smile.
More pretty than a flower,

you turn me around your little finger,
I cannot avoid my feelings for you,
when your humanity and grace astounds me,

when I suddenly start to fall in love,
like a school boy I feel somewhat stupid
when I look at you, when I admire you and you are
more pretty than a flower.

poem by Gert Strydom
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To The Same Flower (second poem)

With little here to do or see
Of things that in the great world be,
Daisy! again I talk to thee,
For thou art worthy,
Thou unassuming Common-place
Of Nature, with that homely face,
And yet with something of a grace,
Which Love makes for thee!

Oft on the dappled turf at ease
I sit, and play with similies,
Loose types of things through all degrees,
Thoughts of thy raising:
And many a fond and idle name
I give to thee, for praise or blame,
As is the humour of the game,
While I am gazing.

A nun demure of lowly port;
Or sprightly maiden, of Love's court,
In thy simplicity the sport
Of all temptations;
A queen in crown of rubies drest;
A starveling in a scanty vest;
Are all, as seems to suit thee best,
Thy appellations.

A little cyclops, with one eye
Staring to threaten and defy,
That thought comes next--and instantly
The freak is over,
The shape will vanish--and behold
A silver shield with boss of gold,
That spreads itself, some faery bold
In fight to cover!

I see thee glittering from afar--
And then thou art a pretty star;
Not quite so fair as many are
In heaven above thee!
Yet like a star, with glittering crest,
Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest;--
May peace come never to his nest,
Who shall reprove thee!

Bright 'Flower'! for by that name at last,
When all my reveries are past,
I call thee, and to that cleave fast,
Sweet silent creature!
That breath'st with me in sun and air,
Do thou, as thou art wont, repair
My heart with gladness, and a share
Of thy meek nature!

poem by William Wordsworth
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Three Unique Flowers!

Due to flowers world itself is called as flower world!
Of them lotus, rose and tulip are world renowned ones
Nobody can deny their significance anywhere anytime!

Danish renowned tulip flowers cheer all by unique beauty!
Tulip flowers of many colours have made mark in literature;
Everybody cherishes their beauty unique in Nature all time.

Rose flower, the thorny beauty of all is the queen of flowers
Everybody has an high esteem and value for rose everywhere!
It is the chosen flower uniquely cherished as a symbol of love.

Lotus flower with yellow seeds in is cherished as divine one!
It is highly esteemed as a spiritual flower for meditation most;
Spiritually valued high lotus flower has mystical significance.

If tulips are angels rose is the queen of love poets cherish
Meant to worship mystically elevating divine lotus ever fresh!

poem by Ramesh T A
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Love's Infinity

Dear lowly flower that liftest up
Among the grass thy golden cup,
I take thee from thy earthly bed
And plant thee in my heart instead.
Ye ocean waves that mount on high
As emulous of the lofty sky,
'Tis in my breast ye onward sweep
Which as the sea is wide and deep.
Great sun, from thy supernal height
On flower and wave who pourest light,
My soul doth clasp thee in the skies,
And thou in me dost set and rise.
O thou I love, thy lips of fire
Have waked an infinite desire,
And unto all things as to thee
Flames out the love that burns in me.

poem by William Gay
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I Picked A Flower

I picked a flower from a bush
And I loved it so
Put it in a vase next to my bed
But how was I to know

That the flower cried for its bush
That the bush cried for its flower
But how was I to know
That the flower would die in an hour

The flower withered away
And I put it inside my book
Because I loved the flower so
But how was I to know

That the flower gasped for breath
That it was facing death
But how was I to know
That the flower so badly wanted to go

And I kept the flower close to me
So that every day I could see
But how was I know
That the flower that I had loved so
Had always hated me
That there was pain I couln't see
And how was I to know?

poem by Shobhita Singh
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Mystical Rose, Pray For Us!

O aptly named, Illustrious One!
Thou art that flower fair
That filled this vast and changeful world
With mystic perfume rare—
Shedding on all the balmy breath
Of countless virtues high,
Rising like fragrant odours rich,
To God’s far, beauteous sky.

Mystical Rose! O aptly named!
For, as ’mid brightest flowers
The lovely Rose unquestioned reigns
The Queen of Nature’s bowers,
So ’mid the daughters fair of Eve
Art thou the peerless One!
The chosen handmaid of the Lord!
The Mother of His Son!

Yes, He endowed thee with all gifts
Which could thy beauty grace;
And ne’er did sin, e’en for one hour,
Thy spotless soul deface,
For from the first thou had’st the power
God’s fav’ring love to win;
It was His will that thou should’st be
Conceived devoid of sin.

Oh, Mother dear, obtain for us
That we from evil flee;
Throughout this, fleeting life’s career
Mayst thou our model be!
Seek we to imitate the gifts
That thy pure soul adorn—
Sweet flower of beauty and of grace!
Fair Rose without a thorn!

poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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A Flower with years

Like a seed
I began in the open firmaments of the heavens
battered by the very elements of nature
to make me strong
in a milieu that
oppresses, dictates, and abuses
but I’ll rise'
like a flower, I bloomed with light’s rays
like a flower, I was groomed by years
like a flower, I unfolded with grace
like a flower, I am the living years
but watch and see'
I’ll be your treasure because of these years

I see me with years -
a cistern that absorbs the days
then
replace them with experiences
a price not paid with a few years
so I murmur not
because of these years
yes
I am these years
but I’ll rise'
like a flower, I bloomed with light’s rays
like a flower, I was groomed by years
like a flower, I unfold with grace
like a flower, I live in years
but watch and see'
I’ll be your treasure because of these years

I’m
crafted in hurt, misery and pain
A price I paid for younger to listen and fear
yet they see this not
yet I’m not perturbed because of these years
but I’ll rise'
like a flower I bloom with light’s rays,
like a flower I groomed by years
like a flower I unfold with grace
like a flower I live in years
but watch and see'
I’ll be your treasure because of these years

poem by Paul Andrew Bourne
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The Death Of The Rose

Ah! life, dear life, thy summer days have flown
Swiftly yet all too late, for they did wither.
Joy should be joy for one short hour alone,
Or it will lose its loveliness for ever.

I did not spare to use the cruel knife,
But cut the rose as soon as it was day,
And gave it to my love. Its little life
Passed, like a sigh, from Nature's breast away.

Full--hearted flower, thou didst not shrink nor flee
When the steel touched thee. No sad memories
Made what thou knew not terrible to thee,
And death came on thee like a sad surprise.

Too happy flower! I would my love had died
At unawares, by such a death as thine.
I should have slain my love in its full pride,
So had it lived and been for ever mine,

A treasure for all joy to ponder on,
Laid up for aye in old Time's palaces,
A ``thing of beauty'' which my soul had won,
And death had made undying with a kiss.

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Running waters

Twas the way the dawn of the flower
of long time ago in sping,
to open the doors of the hour
to see what was within..

Growing seeds of madness
of a life in spring,
to everlasting flower and with
a drink of gin.
having faith long ago that we
all have in space.
to an everlasting flower
to an everlasting grace.
of all things come together as
time passes by.
to enjoy the hour with an worthy eye.

poem by Rodney Rod Smith
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My Pretty Rose Tree

A flower was offered to me,
Such a flower as May never bore;
But I said, ‘I’ve a pretty rose tree,’
And I passed the sweet flower o’er.

Then I went to my pretty rose tree,
To tend her by day and by night;
But my rose turned away with jealousy,
And her thorns were my only delight.

poem by William Blake from Songs of Experience (1794)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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My Wilted Flower

Your waking dreams
I hear your screams
Of the hour
My wilted flower

All alone
Can’t go home
You must cower
My wilted flower

So much pain
Standing in the rain
You are not of power
My wilted flower

You run away
And there you stay
In the cold rain shower
My wilted flower

Memories of all the hate
Your horrible fate
They no longer tower
My wilted flower

In peace you die
I mustn’t cry
Your last hour
My wilted flower

~2009~

poem by Jennifer Cramer
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A Vow to Heavenly Venus

We that with like hearts love, we lovers twain,
New wedded in the village by thy fane,
Lady of all chaste love, to thee it is
We bring these amaranths, these white lilies,
A sign, and sacrifice; may Love, we pray,
Like amaranthine flowers, feel no decay;
Like these cool lilies may our loves remain,
Perfect and pure, and know not any stain;
And be our hearts, from this thy holy hour,
Bound each to each, like flower to wedded flower.

poem by Joachim du Bellay
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Love And Beauty: II: To The Same

Oh Soul! that this fair flower dost so mirrour,
Ask of thyself, saying-'Soul beautiful,
Oh Soul-in-love, oh happy, happy Soul,
That wert so dull and poor, and this sweet hour
Art so more floral even than a flower,
That in thee it is better'd to a full,
Whereto each former rose is poor and dull,
Ah, what doth thus enlarge thee and empower,
That thou who, at thy most, wert a priesthood,
A vassal strength, a bliss feudàtory,
Hast grown a final joy, an absolute good,
A god that, for being god, believest in God
The more?' Thou canst not clear this mystery,
Ah happy, happy soul, whose fruit of life is nigh.

poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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The Violet

DOWN in a green and shady bed,
A modest violet grew;
Its stalk was bent, it hung its head
As if to hide from view.

And yet it was a lovely flower,
Its colour bright and fair;
It might have graced a rosy bower,
Instead of hiding there.

Yet thus it was content to bloom,
In modest tints arrayed;
And there diffused a sweet perfume,
Within the silent shade.

Then let me to the valley go
This pretty flower to see;
That I may also learn to grow
In sweet humility.

poem by Ann Taylor
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