To Violets
Welcome, maids of honour,
You do bring
In the Spring;
And wait upon her.
She has virgins many,
Fresh and fair;
Yet you are
More sweet than any.
You're the maiden posies;
And so graced,
To be placed
'Fore damask roses.
--Yet, though thus respected,
By and by
Ye do lie,
Poor girls, neglected.
poem by Robert Herrick
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Y Are The Maiden Posies
''Y' are the maiden posies,
And so graced,
To be placed
Fore damask roses.
Yet, though thus respected,
By and by
Ye do lie,
Poor girls, neglected.'
poem by Louisa May Alcott
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Damask rose
Damask rose how fair your beauty holds the light
How fair your fragrance subdues the fears of night
and how fair your lowly crimson-head
Is with gallantry and passion fed.
In Midnight-oils in sunlit soils
Not a fairer beauty be;
Oh damask rose in flaming clothes
What more beauty could there be...
But in man's hand a maiden fair
with hazelnut brown hair
And roving-limbs that exult like hymns
The answer to a prayer...
poem by Mark Heathcote
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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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The Dirge Of Jephthah's Daughter:sung By The Virgins
O thou, the wonder of all days!
O paragon, and pearl of praise!
O Virgin-martyr, ever blest
Above the rest
Of all the maiden-train! We come,
And bring fresh strewings to thy tomb.
Thus, thus, and thus, we compass round
Thy harmless and unhaunted ground;
And as we sing thy dirge, we will
The daffadil,
And other flowers, lay upon
The altar of our love, thy stone.
Thou wonder of all maids, liest here,
Of daughters all, the dearest dear;
The eye of virgins; nay, the queen
Of this smooth green,
And all sweet meads, from whence we get
The primrose and the violet.
Too soon, too dear did Jephthah buy,
By thy sad loss, our liberty;
His was the bond and cov'nant, yet
Thou paid'st the debt;
Lamented Maid! he won the day:
But for the conquest thou didst pay.
Thy father brought with him along
The olive branch and victor's song;
He slew the Ammonites, we know,
But to thy woe;
And in the purchase of our peace,
The cure was worse than the disease.
For which obedient zeal of thine,
We offer here, before thy shrine,
Our sighs for storax, tears for wine;
And to make fine
And fresh thy hearse-cloth, we will here
Four times bestrew thee every year.
Receive, for this thy praise, our tears;
Receive this offering of our hairs;
Receive these crystal vials, fill'd
With tears, distill'd
From teeming eyes; to these we bring,
Each maid, her silver filleting,
To gild thy tomb; besides, these cauls,
These laces, ribbons, and these falls,
These veils, wherewith we use to hide
The bashful bride,
When we conduct her to her groom;
All, all we lay upon thy tomb.
No more, no more, since thou art dead,
Shall we e'er bring coy brides to bed;
No more, at yearly festivals,
We, cowslip balls,
Or chains of columbines shall make,
For this or that occasion's sake.
No, no; our maiden pleasures be
Wrapt in the winding-sheet with thee;
'Tis we are dead, though not i' th' grave;
Or if we have
One seed of life left, 'tis to keep
A Lent for thee, to fast and weep.
Sleep in thy peace, thy bed of spice,
And make this place all paradise;
May sweets grow here, and smoke from hence
Fat frankincense;
Let balm and cassia send their scent
From out thy maiden-monument.
May no wolf howl, or screech owl stir
A wing about thy sepulchre!
No boisterous winds or storms come hither,
To starve or wither
Thy soft sweet earth; but, like a spring,
Love keep it ever flourishing.
May all shy maids, at wonted hours,
Come forth to strew thy tomb with flowers;
May virgins, when they come to mourn,
Male-incense burn
Upon thine altar; then return,
And leave thee sleeping in thy urn.
poem by Robert Herrick
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Silver setting scene,
graced with one fresh red rose on
snowy damask seen.
haiku by Jonathan Robin (13 January 1993)
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Roses crimson, roses white
`Roses crimson, roses white,
Deadly pale or lovely blushing,
Both in love with May at sight,
And their maiden blood is rushing
To and fro in hope to hide
Tumult it but thus discloses.
Bring the Bridegroom to the Bride!
Everywhere are roses, roses.'
`Every wall is white with roses
`Every wall is white with roses,
Linnets pair in every tree;
Brim your beakers, twine your posies,
Kiss and quaff ere Springtime closes;
Bloom and beauty quickly flee.'
`Nay, let me sleep, or, best, be stone or steel
`Nay, let me sleep, or, best, be stone or steel,
While still endures this infamy of woe.
My one sole bliss is nor to see nor feel:
So, wake me not; and, lest you should, speak low.'
poem by Alfred Austin
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Only Roses
To a garden full of posies
Cometh one to gather flowers;
And he wanders through its bowers
Toying with the wanton roses,
Who, uprising from their beds,
Hold on high their shameless heads
With their pretty lips a-pouting,
Never doubting - never doubting
That for Cytherean posies
He would gather aught but roses.
In a nest of weeds and nettles,
Lay a violet, half hidden;
Hoping that his glance unbidden
Yet might fall upon her petals.
Though she lived alone, apart,
Hope lay nestling at her heart,
But, alas! the cruel awaking
Set her little heart a-breaking,
For he gathered for his posies
Only roses - only roses!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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A Gift Of Roses
I count the hours: you count the days.
Together, we count the minutes in this passion play.
Walk dusty miles. and I ride that train
On a first class ticket, just to be with you again.
Picking up tired feet. back from a far horizon.
Cleaned up and brushed down. dressed to look the part.
Fresh from gods garden, I bring a gift of roses:
To stand in sweet spring water and press them to your heart.
Like the kipling cat, I walk alone -
Never inviting trouble, never casting the stone.
But this badge of honour is of tarnished tin.
Lightyour guiding beacon to bring this fisher in.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Fair Silver Maiden
Oh my fair silver maiden
I see your eyes in the stars that light the dark,
Your hair in the swaying summer grass,
Your smile in the majestic sunrise
Oh my fair silver maiden
Your scent is always on the next wind
Your sweet, intoxicating scent.
Oh my fair silver maiden
Tell me where you are
So that I might find you
And my heart be complete.
Oh my fair silver maiden
How I long for you
How I cry for you
How I search for you.
Oh my fair silver maiden
Always beyond the next wind.
Tell me where you are
So that I might find you
And my heart be complete.
Oh my fair silver maiden.
poem by Cameron Bird
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Girls
Some girls got it some girls dont
Some girls do it some girls wont
Some girls want to run your life
Some want to sink your boat
Girls- sweet sweet girls
Make you break you girls dont care
Wake you shake you get you there
Some girls like to play it cool
Some like to kiss and tell
Girls- sweet sweet girls
Its not new but its gotta be faced
A man can be turned by a pretty face
Cant live with them
Cant live without them
Girls- sweet sweet girls
Girls in movies girls in space
Girls on t.v. girls that race
Some girls want to tie you down
Some girls dont want to know
Girls- sweet sweet girls
Its not true but its gotta be faced
A man can be turned by a pretty face
Cant live with them
Cant live without them
Girls- sweet sweet girls
Some girls got it some girls dont
Some girls do it some girls wont
Some girls want to run your life
Some want to sink your boat
Girls- sweet sweet girls
Girls- sweet sweet girls
Girls- sweet sweet girls
Girls- sweet sweet sweet girls
(mccafferty,agnew,charlton,sweet)
Copyright 1989 m.a.c.s. music
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Flower Basket
Bring to me the flowers of Spring
In a woven straw basket brown
Pretty Little Maids all in a row
Petal's strewn 'cross the town
Oh so delightful in the Springtime
Resplendent in the Summer air
A garden basket of sweet scented blooms
Of The Maiden's Fair
Most beautiful to all breath-taking
Their aroma's splash the breeze
Velvet soft-like petals abloom
In The Secret Garden With Ease
They living out their complete prime
Beautifying Others Life
Their fragrance emulating upon a zephr
Numbing all of this worlds strife
Long before the rustic fall comes calling
With It's Oft' Northern Breeze
Chasing away the flowers and the green
Ending the blooms sweet life
With Ice Cold Freeze
poem by Theodora Onken
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Bridal Song
ROSES, their sharp spines being gone,
Not royal in their smells alone,
But in their hue;
Maiden pinks, of odour faint,
Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint,
And sweet thyme true;
Primrose, firstborn child of Ver;
Merry springtime's harbinger,
With her bells dim;
Oxlips in their cradles growing,
Marigolds on death-beds blowing,
Larks'-heels trim;
All dear Nature's children sweet
Lie 'fore bride and bridegroom's feet,
Blessing their sense!
Not an angel of the air,
Bird melodious or bird fair,
Be absent hence!
The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor
The boding raven, nor chough hoar,
Nor chattering pye,
May on our bride-house perch or sing,
Or with them any discord bring,
But from it fly!
poem by William Shakespeare
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Surrender Into The Roses
Last night you were on my balcony.
You needn't try, know the whole story.
Before it's too late I must get away,
But both of us know you must stay.
Oh, come on, Carmilla,
Surrender into the roses.
Go back home under the posies.
Surrender into the roses,
Carmilla, Carmilla, Carmilla.
Tying, dying, flowers around the room.
It keeps me safe, but oh! the sickly perfume.
Well, it makes me long for the good times,
When you were really alive.
Oh, come on, Carmilla,
Surrender into the roses.
Go back home under the posies.
Surrender into the roses,
Carmilla, Carmilla, Carmilla
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Girls Have Rights Too
Girls must have the undeniable rights to speak,
And the God-given rights to choose and pick.
Girls must have the rights to be educated,
To be respected and to be protected.
Girls are human beings too;
Girls must have all the rights too.
Girls must have the rights to fight
For respect, comfort and decency.
Girls like boys are bright,
Girls must be able to taste the fruit of equality.
Girls are people too,
Girls are wonderful too.
Education is the light at the end of the tunnel,
And ignorance is the moon at the bottom of the funnel.
Education is the hope that triggers better opportunities,
It is also the antidote that defeats all sorts of disease.
Therefore, girls must have the rights to be educated,
To be protected and to be respected.
poem by Hebert Logerie
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Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting
Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting,
Which clad in damask mantles deck the arbours,
And then behold your lips, where sweet Love harbours,
My eyes present me with a double doubting.
For, viewing both alike, hardly my mind supposes
Whether the roses be your lips or your lips the roses.
poem by John Wilbye
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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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The Wooing
A YOUTH went faring up and down,
Alack and well-a-day.
He fared him to the market town,
Alack and well-a-day.
And there he met a maiden fair,
With hazel eyes and auburn hair;
His heart went from him then and there,
Alack and well-a-day.
She posies sold right merrily,
Alack and well-a-day;
But not a flower was fair as she,
Alack and well-a-day.
He bought a rose and sighed a sigh,
'Ah, dearest maiden, would that I
Might dare the seller too to buy!'
Alack and well-a-day.
She tossed her head, the coy coquette,
Alack and well-a-day.
'I'm not, sir, in the market yet,'
Alack and well-a-day.
'Your love must cool upon a shelf;
Tho' much I sell for gold and pelf,
I'm yet too young to sell myself,'
Alack and well-a-day.
The youth was filled with sorrow sore,
Alack and well-a-day;
And looked he at the maid once more,
Alack and well-a-day.
Then loud he cried, 'Fair maiden, if
Too young to sell, now as I live,
You're not too young yourself to give,'
Alack and well-a-day.
The little maid cast down her eyes,
Alack and well-a-day,
And many a flush began to rise,
Alack and well-a-day.
'Why, since you are so bold,' she said,
'I doubt not you are highly bred,
So take me!' and the twain were wed,
Alack and well-a-day.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Winter Roses
My garden roses long ago
Have perished from the leaf-strewn walks;
Their pale, fair sisters smile no more
Upon the sweet-brier stalks.
Gone with the flower-time of my life,
Spring's violets, summer's blooming pride,
And Nature's winter and my own
Stand, flowerless, side by side.
So might I yesterday have sung;
To-day, in bleak December's noon,
Come sweetest fragrance, shapes, and hues,
The rosy wealth of June!
Bless the young bands that culled the gift,
And bless the hearts that prompted it;
If undeserved it comes, at least
It seems not all unfit.
Of old my Quaker ancestors
Had gifts of forty stripes save one;
To-day as many roses crown
The gray head of their son.
And with them, to my fancy's eye,
The fresh-faced givers smiling come,
And nine and thirty happy girls
Make glad a lonely room.
They bring the atmosphere of youth;
The light and warmth of long ago
Are in my heart, and on my cheek
The airs of morning blow.
O buds of girlhood, yet unblown,
And fairer than the gift ye chose,
For you may years like leaves unfold
The heart of Sharon's rose
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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A Cuckoo Song
Crowns are for kings to wear, sad crowns of gold
Over tired heads that ache, world--cares untold.
Not on thy happy brows, sweet bird of summer,
Set we such crowns to--day, thou Spring's new--comer.
Take from us, rather, thou these our wild posies.
April's and May's we bring, June's with its roses.
Nay and love's Cuckoo flowers, O child of glory!
Cuckoos thine own birds are; these be thy dowry.
Eve of our heart's shut field, need is we grieve thee,
Gone to a world more sweet where we must leave thee.
Russet--clad nightingales, tired of our chaunting,
Out in the dark we weep, our Queen--bird wanting.
Such is the fate of birds. Soon as the Spring comes
Vagrant they flit and fly. Lo! 'tis their King comes.
Endeth our night plaint only when, through the wild wood,
New born the day trips in, laughs as a child would.
O, then we too will laugh, join in the gay chime,
Run to thy marriage bells, birds of the day--time.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Two Valentines
I.-TO MISTRESS BARBARA
There were three cavaliers, all handsome and true,
On Valentine's day came a maiden to woo,
And quoth to your mother: 'Good-morrow, my dear,
We came with some songs for your daughter to hear!'
Your mother replied: 'I'll be pleased to convey
To my daughter what things you may sing or may say!'
Then the first cavalier sung: 'My pretty red rose,
I'll love you and court you some day, I suppose!'
And the next cavalier sung, with make-believe tears:
'I've loved you! I've loved you these many long years!'
But the third cavalier (with the brown, bushy head
And the pretty blue jacket and necktie of red)
He drew himself up with a resolute air,
And he warbled: 'O maiden, surpassingly fair!
I've loved you long years, and I love you to-day,
And, if you will let me, I'll love you for aye!'
I (the third cavalier) sang this ditty to you,
In my necktie of red and my jacket of blue;
I'm sure you'll prefer the song that was mine
And smile your approval on your valentine.
II.-TO A BABY BOY
Who I am I shall not say,
But I send you this bouquet
With this query, baby mine:
'Will you be my valentine?'
See these roses blushing blue,
Very like your eyes of hue;
While these violets are the red
Of your cheeks. It can be said
Ne'er before was babe like you.
And I think it is quite true
No one e'er before to-day
Sent so wondrous a bouquet
As these posies aforesaid-
Roses blue and violets red!
Sweet, repay me sweets for sweets-
'Tis your lover who entreats!
Smile upon me, baby mine-
Be my little valentine!
poem by Eugene Field
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