Like All Things With Time Roses Whither Away
Like all things with time roses whither away,
as does the frail beauty of lingering youth
which comes to sweet perfection on a day,
the waning of life is an ultimate truth,
as life and living is not what it seem
and daily we do live and play wantonly
while like roses, life is fair as we do deem,
but destiny strikes uncommonly
while all of life, living is just a show
in which some joy and some errors are made,
while with love at times we do like roses glow,
with time everything does eventually fade,
while at a time the canker of death lies,
even in the most beautiful of eyes.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
Sonet LIV
O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye
As the perfumed tincture of the roses,
Hang on such thorns and play as wantonly
When summer's breath their masked buds discloses:
But, for their virtue only is their show,
They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade,
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made:
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
When that shall fade, my verse distills your truth.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Sonnet 54: O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
The canker blooms have full as deep a dye
As the perfumèd tincture of the roses,
Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly
When summer's breath their maskèd buds discloses;
But, for their virtue only is their show,
They live unwooed and unrespected fade,
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made.
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
When that shall vade, by verse distills your truth.
poem by William Shakespeare
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The Holy Rosary (Roses to Mother Mary)
Roses that can never fade;
Roses white and red in shade;
Roses that are heaven-made;
Roses in Mary’s crown laid!
Roses from the hearts that pray;
Roses blossoming night, day;
Roses living all the way;
Roses fit for any Fay!
Roses that will always stay;
Roses brighter than sun’s ray;
Roses everlasting, Aye!
Roses that she can’t say, ’nay’!
The spiritual best weapon,
That brings favors from her son,
That serves to solve problems mundane,
And makes souls fit for life divine!
‘PRAYERS THAT YOU CAN SAY ALL LIFE
TO KEEP AWAY FROM EVERY STRIFE! ’
dedicated to the 'Holy Family Church Grotto' Perundurai
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-12-10
poem by John Celes
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Roses Are Red (Jessica)
Roses are red Violets are blue,
Honey is so sweet and so are you darling!
Roses are red Violets are blue,
You've made my dreams come true!
Roses are red Violets are blue,
I have my brown eyes glued on YOU!
Roses are red Violets are blue,
I feel like i have known you!
Roses are red Violets are blue,
You are so FINE that you give me the BLUES!
Roses are red Violets are blue,
Lord knows that im falling for you!
Roses are red Violets are blue,
I just want to Rock with you!
Roses are red Violets are blue,
These lips can't wait to be kissing you!
Roses are red Violets are blue,
I do anything to claim you!
Roses are red Violets are blue,
I bow down to you!
Roses are red Violets are blue,
I've never met anyone as HOT as you!
Roses are red Violets are blue,
never knew i would meet you!
Roses are red Violets are blue,
I'm going to bed would you like to come too!
Roses are red Violets are blue,
I rather spend my precious time with you!
Roses are red Violets are blue,
You are beautiful as sparkling DIAMOND!
Roses are red Violets are blue,
You have me speechless everytime i talk to you!
Roses are red Violets are blue,
May i have this dance with you (JESSICA)
Roses are red Violets are blue,
I have mentioned your name so many time i have lost count!
Roses are red Violets are blue,
I dont want no-one if i cant have you. #PERIOD
Roses are red Violets are blue,
I want to give you everlasting Joy, Happiness, and especially LOVE!
Roses are red Violets are blue,
I'm the one who will make your dreams come true
Roses are red Violets are blue,
Chilli is hot and so are you!
Roses are red Violets are blue,
JESSICA ITA JAMES WILL YOU BE MY GIRLFRIEND! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Roses are red Violets are blue,
THIS POEM WAS MADE FOR YOU.......
poem by Obi Onyenwe
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My Sweet Red Roses
O my Sweet Red Roses,
For ages I've been searching looking
For my sweet red roses,
Hopping round like a Kangaroo
Hoping to fall in love
With my sweet red roses.
As I firmly
Hold My Sweet Red Roses
Nearest Dearest to my heart
Like Christ born on Christmas Day
Lying in a manger
With eyes wide shut,
Her face incomparable to entire nature.
And as I closely
Hold my sweet red roses,
To myself,
Her wanderlust of holiness
Fills me up
Ushers me to her depth,
And I bear my soul to
My sweet red roses.
By day,
Her smile gives sunshine
Speaking gives life.
And by night,
Living grabs my love
And her very thoughts
Gives me hope.
O My Sweet Red Roses
Even when unconscious
Cannot breath
Cannot feel
Cannot talk
Cannot move nor touch,
It is you I shall continue remain loving,
Because your loving is in the Heaven's
Faithfulness up to the clouds
Beautifulness to the white snow.
O My Sweet Red Roses,
A thousand times I shall care
A million dimes I shall cherish
A billion rhymes I shall honor
A trillion dines I shall spring,
And a zillion miles I shall love
My sweet red roses.
O yes, yes,
My sweet red roses,
Mm yes, yes...
My sweet red roses.
poem by Francis Julian Zewu
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Roses
Oh, wind of the spring-time, oh, free wind of May,
When blossoms and bird-song are rife;
Oh, joy for the season, and joy for the day,
That gave me the roses of life, of life,
That gave me the roses of life.
Oh, wind of the summer, sing loud in the night,
When flutters my heart like a dove;
One came from thy kingdom, thy realm of delight,
And gave me the roses of love, of love,
And gave me the roses of love.
Oh, wind of the winter, sigh low in thy grief,
I hear thy compassionate breath;
I wither, I fall, like the autumn-kissed leaf,
He gave me the roses of death, of death,
He gave me the roses of death.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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A Rose
Roses come into our lives then fade a die,
Some yellow others red as a summer's sky.
There are other roses that enter ones life,
Grand Children, husbands or a wife.
Family form for us a bed of roses,
Long past the last breath and a life closes.
You are for us and always will be,
A sweet smelling beautiful rose to Granny and me.
Dear one live not by the sword,
Live not by a weapon but honour your Lord.
Be for your Lord the glint in His eye,
And the perfume we take in as we walk by.
A Song Of Roses
'Tis time to sing of roses: of roses all ablow,
To every vagrant passing breeze they dip a courtesy low,
'Tis time to sing of roses! for June is here, you know.
One song for true love's roses of sweetest deepest red,
Some heart will wear you faithfully when life itself hath fled,
And for the white rose sing a song--the white rose for the dead.
And ah! the yellow roses, of brightest, lightest gold,
King Midas must have touched their leaves in mystic days of old,
Or they were made of sunshine, and gilded, fold by fold.
And the roadside rose, sweet-briar, we would remember thee
And the cinnamon rose that evermore enthralls each passing bee,
You old, old-fashioned roses, a-growing wild and free.
'Tis time to sing of roses! of roses all ablow!
They come again, as sweet, my dear, as those of long ago.
'Tis time to sing of roses! for June is here you know.
poem by Virna Sheard
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Solatium
Comes the broken flower -
Comes the cheated maid -
Though the tempest lower,
Rain and cloud will fade!
Take, O maid, these posies:
Though thy beauty rare
Shame the blushing roses,
They are passing fair!
Wear the flowers till they fade;
Happy be thy life, O maid!
O'er the season vernal,
Time may cast a shade;
Sunshine, if eternal,
Makes the roses fade:
Time may do his duty;
Let the thief alone -
Winter hath a beauty
That is all his own.
Fairest days are sun and shade:
Happy be thy life, O maid!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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A Bouquet Of Roses
A BOUQUET OF ROSES
When greeted by a bouquet of thirty roses
on the anniversary day,
A mixed feeling rose within, and I didn’t
know what to say!
But I thanked the Lord for that special day!
For long I had developed an attitude towards
roses you know,
As I watched its thorns and reddish glow!
When painted like the ‘Sunflower’ they neither
die or fade, -
A visual feast for the eyes, while olfactory nerves
remain dead!
Roses like humans when cut off from their
roots,
They gradually wither and fade, as roses should!
But its lingering perfume forever remains,
As I inhale, - I am wafted beyond the world of
the dead!
- Raj Nandy
- New Delhi
- 12 Feb 09
The Vows Of A Rose
(her) Roses so red,
Roses be said,
To the soul and to the heart,
Shall you always bleed from thy dart.
(they) Roses be true roses be said,
Through eternal life shall you be lead
To the body to the mind
Eternity is so kind
(him) Roses so red,
Roses be said
To the old, to the youth
May you always know the truth
(they) Roses be true roses be said,
Through eternal life shall you be lead
To the body to the mind
Eternity is so kind
(her) Roses so red,
Roses be said,
Love shall never be new
For this I already knew
(they) Roses be true roses be said,
Through eternal life shall you be lead
To the body to the mind
Eternity is so kind
(him) Roses so red,
Roses be said,
To the soul and to the heart
Shall you always bleed from my dart.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Mama Liked The Roses
(words & music by j. christopher)
Oh, mama liked the roses she grew them in the yard
But winter always came around and made the growing way too hard
Oh, mama liked the roses and when she had the time
Shed decorate the living room, for all us kids to see
When I hear the sunday bells ringing in the morning
I remember crying when she used to sing
Oh, mama liked the roses but most of all she cared
About the way we learned to live
And if we said our prayers
You know I kept the family bible
With a rose that she saved inside
It was pressed between the pages
Like it had found a place to hide
Oh, mama liked the roses in such a special way
We bring them every mothers day
And put them on her grave
Oh, mama liked the roses mmmm
Mama liked the roses
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Far too much in love I was with her (sonnet corona / crown of sonnets)
(for A)
I
Far too much in love I was with her
but probably she did not really love me,
while she became involved with another,
and I became her liability.
Crying I could hardly see
and although the parting was shattering
from her fighting rages I was finally free
and being alone at times was overwhelming
the parting is much better still
as she tried to stain my integrity
and at times did not have goodwill,
tried to hide from any responsibility,
destiny knew better about the things that ought to be,
my love, like an illness almost destroyed me.
II
My love, like an illness almost destroyed me
and on the balcony of the fifteenth floor
I was robbed from sense and sensibility
wavering to jump and land in a bundle of gore
but something spoke to my heart spoke to my soul
and I knew that all fair reasoning had left me
turned me into a animal, somewhat like a ghoul
and immediately I saw this as inadequacy
dealing with the situation of love lost
and step away from the beyond
spared myself the ultimate cost
of going on in death's bond:
seeing that you like a devil besieged me,
I stepped away and from you I was free.
III
I stepped away and from you I was free,
but I still wonder how you could take
gifts, flowers and poems from me
and in my back could at times rake
your nails and with subtlety
sometimes look me in the eye,
while sleeping around and being dirty
while slowly causing our love to die?
Was it the looks that your beauty had drawn?
that made you slip and ride the tide
or was their promise in each new dawn,
until truth rocked me like a landslide:
while I thought that our love was strong,
what you did to me was terribly wrong.
IV
What you did to me was terribly wrong
giving pain, more pain and joy and pain
as you carried on behind my back, went along,
but what did you really gain?
I wonder why you still at times call me
to tell me that you miss little things
and act sometimes sincerely
as if there are no endings or beginnings
and this was not really my making
and I have pain while you still laugh in glee
as you had made your choices in this undertaking,
destiny had forced me along, as things are to be;
like the withering, as time disposes
the dark red bunches of roses.
V
The dark red bunches of roses
grow among thorn upon thorn
and so it's with women clad in sheer hoses
and a gentle, humble one is still to be born.
Even if for love you do the right deed
it is sometimes filled with a canker,
even if to every caution you do heed
when you do further proceed.
Venus has led many men to disaster
into servant, follower
has stripped the good master
from all his power:
as witnessed by the scars that I bear,
from services to one not true but fair.
VI
From services to one not true but fair
at times sudden disaster sprouted,
as she undressed, let down her long hair
and in intimacy screamed and shouted.
It is a thing to be loved
but then quite another
to from a heart be removed
and then when I truly loved her
even the hairs on her arms did rise
when I reached out to embrace
my loving her was not wise
as she acted at times in disgrace
and now that time speeds faster than it did before,
I wish to have half my life back once more.
VII
I wish to have half my life back once more,
to live daily to what destiny brings
and now I do deplore
not having love's blessings
and it was painful when I went on my way,
to be deceived as she acted secretly
and was interested to kiss and play
with a friend very intimately
but live goes on with seasons and years,
and it brings joys, heartaches, pleasure and pain,
sometimes hours, days and months of tears
but with her I never want a relationship again
and to my death we will never again be together;
far too much in love I was with her
poem by Gert Strydom
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Life Is Beautiful
Life is a miracle, don’t let it slip away;
Open your heart to others.
Give of yourself each day;
To See the beauty and love in everyone.
Regardless of whom they are and where they’ve been;
Some have difficult journey in life.
And they really need a friend and God;
In times of difficulties and turbulence.
Life is a God’s most beautiful creation;
Life is Good and wonderful;
Life is meaningful and joyful;
Life is fulfillment of God creation.
Life empowers us to live to the fullest;
Life is a blessing from God;
Life is a cycle of living things and living beings;
Eternal Life is a treasure of heaven.
Life is Beautiful;
Beauty of Life;
Wonder of Life;
Life Is Beautiful.
© 2011 Lawrence Hiung
revision No.1 revision date: 8 Jan.2012
poem by Lawrence Hiung
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So Not Perfect
Just heard a song on the radio
a girl singing about a boy
who is not less than perfect.
Sweet.
Got me think'n bout
how I am
so not perfect.
Course none of us like
to have that truth pointed out.
Better to be wooed
with romantic gestures
and a sweet and caring smile.
Chocolate is good, too.
Some people are crazy early.
Not me.
Yeah, I know- gotta work on that.
For awhile now
it has been on my heart
to always take the time
to smell the roses.
Do you want to know a secret?
When I am alone
and I pass by flowers
on the street
or in the grocery store,
then I stop and smell the roses.
I made a decision that I never want to be
too busy to take time for that.
It is a beautiful joy of life
and one that I try to appreciate.
Too many people zip by life
and miss those little moments
that are the sweetest.
A little over a week ago
I was getting groceries one night.
I detoured to smell the many bouquets of flowers,
and honestly I was dodging that annoying guy
(the one always trying to sell me cable or something
every time I set foot in Wal-Mart) .
A young guy
about 18 or so
struck up a conversation with me
by the roses.
He spilled out his heart
about his break-up with his girl,
his dear love.
He selected the red roses
hoping to win her back.
Hoping she would forgive him.
Hoping he hadn't lost her for good.
The beautiful card
that he selected for her
and his story touched my heart.
Relationships,
like people,
are not perfect
and we all make mistakes.
When we are able to admit it
is when
we get the gold star.
poem by Julie A Smith
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Bed Of Roses
Under the bed of roses we find peace,
Where we stand in heavenly habits finding it;
The roses are never crushed for all of us,
The roses sweetly remember us on this day.
This truth is overpowering me for love and life,
This truth has cancelled my objective,
For I like dozens of flowers and plants
That are subject to the test of loyalty.
May we all wear this bed of roses
In the effort to conceal our crime.
poem by Naveed Akram
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To A Sleeping Child
I
Oh, 'tis a touching thing, to make one weep,—
A tender infant with its curtain'd eye,
Breathing as it would neither live nor die
With that unchanging countenance of sleep!
As if its silent dream, serene and deep,
Had lined its slumber with a still blue sky
So that the passive cheeks unconscious lie
With no more life than roses—just to keep
The blushes warm, and the mild, odorous breath.
O blossom boy! so calm is thy repose.
So sweet a compromise of life and death,
'Tis pity those fair buds should e'er unclose
For memory to stain their inward leaf,
Tinging thy dreams with unacquainted grief.
II
Thine eyelids slept so beauteously, I deem'd
No eyes could wake so beautiful as they:
Thy rosy cheeks in such still slumbers lay,
I loved their peacefulness, nor ever dream'd
Of dimples:—for those parted lips so seem'd,
I never thought a smile could sweetlier play,
Nor that so graceful life could chase away
Thy graceful death,—till those blue eyes upbeam'd.
Now slumber lies in dimpled eddies drown'd
And roses bloom more rosily for joy,
And odorous silence ripens into sound,
And fingers move to sound.—All-beauteous boy!
How thou dost waken into smiles, and prove,
If not more lovely thou art more like Love!
poem by Thomas Hood
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Beauty
The beautiful, the fair, the elegant,
Is that which pleases us, says Kant,
Without a thought of interest or advantage.
I used to watch men when they spoke of beauty
And measure their enthusiasm. One
An old man, seeing a ( ) setting sun,
Praised it ( ) a certain sense of duty
To the calm evening and his time of life.
I know another man that never says a Beauty
But of a horse; ( )
Men seldom speak of beauty, beauty as such,
Not even lovers think about it much.
Women of course consider it for hours
In mirrors; ( )
A shrapnel ball -
Just where the wet skin glistened when he swam -
Like a fully-opened sea-anemone.
We both said 'What a beauty! What a beauty, lad'
I knew that in that flower he saw a hope
Of living on, and seeing again the roses of his home.
Beauty is that which pleases and delights,
Not bringing personal advantage - Kant.
But later on I heard
A canker worked into that crimson flower
And that he sank with it
And laid it with the anemones off Dover.
poem by Wilfred Owen
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Beauty: [Notes for an unfinished poem]
The beautiful, the fair, the elegant,
Is that which pleases us, says Kant,
Without a thought of interest or advantage.
I used to watch men when they spoke of beauty
And measure their enthusiasm. One
An old man, seeing a ( ) setting sun,
Praised it ( ) a certain sense of duty
To the calm evening and his time of life.
I know another man that never says a Beauty
But of a horse; ( )
Men seldom speak of beauty, beauty as such,
Not even lovers think about it much.
Women of course consider it for hours
In mirrors; ( )
A shrapnel ball -
Just where the wet skin glistened when he swam -
Like a fully-opened sea-anemone.
We both said 'What a beauty! What a beauty, lad'
I knew that in that flower he saw a hope
Of living on, and seeing again the roses of his home.
Beauty is that which pleases and delights,
Not bringing personal advantage - Kant.
But later on I heard
A canker worked into that crimson flower
And that he sank with it
And laid it with the anemones off Dover.
poem by Wilfred Owen
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Roses In Madrid
Roses, Senors, roses!
Love is subtly hid
In the fragrant roses,
Blown in gay Madrid.
Roses, Senors, roses!
Look, look, look, and see
Love hanging in the roses,
Like a golden bee!
Ha! ha! shake the roses--
Hold a palm below;
Shake him from the roses,
Catch the vagrant so!
High I toss the roses
From my brown palm up;
Like the wine that bubbles
From a golden cup.
Catch the roses, Senors,
Light on finger tips;
He who buys red roses,
Dreams of crimson lips!
Tinkle! my fresh roses,
With the rare dews wet;
Clink! my crisp, red roses,
Like a castanet!
Roses, Senors, roses,
Come, Hidalgo, buy!
Proudly wait my roses
For thy rose's eye
Be thy rose as stately
As a pacing deer;
Worthy are my roses
To burn behind her ear.
Ha I ha! I can see thee,
Where the fountains foam,
Twining my red roses
In her golden comb!
Roses, Donnas, roses,
None so fresh as mine,
Pluck'd at rose of morning
By our Lady's shrine.
Those that first I gather'd
Laid I at her feet,
That is why my roses
Still are fresh and sweet.
Roses, Donnas, roses!
Roses waxen fair!
Acolytes my roses,
Censing ladies' pray'r!
Roses, roses, roses!
Hear the tawny bull
Thund'ring in the circus--
Buy your arms full.
Roses by the dozen!
Roses by the score!
Pelt the victor with them--
Bull or Toreador!
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
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