Upon Julia's Recovery
Droop, droop no more, or hang the head,
Ye roses almost withered;
Now strength, and newer purple get,
Each here declining violet.
O primroses! let this day be
A resurrection unto ye;
And to all flowers allied in blood,
Or sworn to that sweet sisterhood.
For health on Julia's cheek hath shed
Claret and cream commingled;
And those, her lips, do now appear
As beams of coral, but more clear.
poem by Robert Herrick
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Next Year's Spring
THE bed of flowers
Loosens amain,
The beauteous snowdrops
Droop o'er the plain.
The crocus opens
Its glowing bud,
Like emeralds others,
Others, like blood.
With saucy gesture
Primroses flare,
And roguish violets,
Hidden with care;
And whatsoever
There stirs and strives,
The Spring's contented,
If works and thrives.
'Mongst all the blossoms
That fairest are,
My sweetheart's sweetness
Is sweetest far;
Upon me ever
Her glances light,
My song they waken,
My words make bright,
An ever open
And blooming mind,
In sport, unsullied,
In earnest, kind.
Though roses and lilies
By Summer are brought,
Against my sweetheart
Prevails he nought.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Venus in the Garden
'Twas at early morning,
The dawn was blushing in her purple bed,
When in a sweet, embowered garden
She, the fairest of the goddesses,
The lovely Venus,
Roamed amongst the roses white and red.
She sought for flowers
To make a garland
For her golden head.
Snow-white roses, blood-red roses,
In that sweet garden close,
Offered incense to the goddess:
Both the white and the crimson rose.
White roses, red roses, blossoming:
But the fair Venus knew
The crimson roses had gained their hue
From the hearts that for love had bled;
And the goddess made a garland
Gathered from the roses red.
poem by James Weldon Johnson
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The Violet And The Rose
The violet in the wood, that's sweet to-day,
Is longer sweet than roses of red June;
Set me sweet violets along my way,
And bid the red rose flower, but not too soon.
Ah violet, ah rose, why not the two?
Why bloom not all fair flowers the whole year through?
Why not the two, young violet, ripe rose?
Why dies one sweetness when another blows?
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Purple Forest
I walk into a purple forest
The place is magical and free
The grass is violet, the sky is white
Purple defines every tree
I walk into a purple forest
There are purple buzzing bees
And a swamp of violet waters
creep up to my knees
I walk into a purple forest
A streak of purple runs across the sky
I hear a gentle whisper say
It was a fairy passing by
I walk into a purple forest
On violet sod I lie my head
But later, of course
I awake in my bed
poem by Summer Song
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To Primroses Filled With Morning Dew
Why do ye weep, sweet babes? can tears
Speak grief in you,
Who were but born
just as the modest morn
Teem'd her refreshing dew?
Alas, you have not known that shower
That mars a flower,
Nor felt th' unkind
Breath of a blasting wind,
Nor are ye worn with years;
Or warp'd as we,
Who think it strange to see,
Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young,
To speak by tears, before ye have a tongue.
Speak, whimp'ring younglings, and make known
The reason why
Ye droop and weep;
Is it for want of sleep,
Or childish lullaby?
Or that ye have not seen as yet
The violet?
Or brought a kiss
From that Sweet-heart, to this?
--No, no, this sorrow shown
By your tears shed,
Would have this lecture read,
That things of greatest, so of meanest worth,
Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought forth.
poem by Robert Herrick
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Spring Morning II
Willie.
Roget, droop not, see the spring
Is the earth enamelling,
And the birds on every tree
Greet this morn with melody:
Hark, how yonder thrustle chants it,
And her mate as proudly vants it
See how every stream is dress'd
By her margin with the best
Of Flora's gifts; she seems glad
For such brooks such flow'rs she had.
All the trees are quaintly tired
With green buds, of all desired;
And the hawthorn every day
Spreads some little show of May:
See the primrose sweetly set
By the much-lov'd violet,
All the banks do sweetly cover,
As they would invite a lover
With his lass to see their dressing
And to grace them by their pressing:
Yet in all this merry tide
When all cares are laid aside,
Roget sits as if his blood
Had not felt the quick'ning good
Of the sun, nor cares to play,
Or with songs to pass the day
As he wont: fie, Roget, fie,
Raise thy head, and merrily
Tune us somewhat to thy reed:
See our flocks do freely feed,
Here we may together sit,
And for music very fit
Is this place; from yonder wood
Comes an echo shrill and good,
Twice full perfectly it will
Answer to thine oaten quill.
Roget, droop not then, but sing
Some kind welcome to the spring.
poem by William Browne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Song Of The Rose
THE lilac-time is over,
Laburnum's day is past,
The red may-blossoms cover
The white ones, fallen too fast.
And guelder-roses hang like snow,
Where purple flag-flowers grow.
And still the tulip lingers,
The wall-flower's red like blood
The ivy spreads pale fingers,
The rose is in the bud.
Good-bye, sweet lilac, and sweet may!
The Rose is on the way.
You were but heralds sent us--
All April's buds, and May's--
But painted missals lent us
That we might learn her praise,
Might cast down every bud that blows
Before our Queen, the Rose!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Butterflies, Flowers, Romance
Multicolored monarch fly,
Flower to flower vie,
Tipples nectar,
While I play guitar
Flowers everyday,
For a buxom young lady,
You and I ready,
For a lusty romance
Kisses cheek to cheek,
The dame and I at the peak,
To pick on, pick
Yellow red daisies n’ garden
Flowers I seek,
Roses and candle stick,
Athirst to smooch and flick,
For sweet red lips
Flowers n’ tears, monarch departs,
You and I aren’t apart,
For true love had start,
Promises not to part
poem by Noel Horlanda
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A Prayer For The Sad Ones
I watch cut flowers droop and die
Right in my cozy room
And thoughts arise of homeless men
Who lost their childhood's bloom
There was a time when each of them
Was innocent and young
They may have had a parent, too
Now lost, unknown, unsung
But soon their paths began to twist
In hardship's brutal strife
And bit by bit they came undone
Skid row was now their life
My hope is that a seed or two
From flowers dropp to earth
And that the miracle of growth
Will sprout a brand new birth
Could it be, too, that one sad soul
Whose days are filled with dread
Might one day reach for wings of grace
And grab faith's golden thread?
I watch cut flowers droop and die
Right in my cozy room
And thoughts arise of homeless men
Who lost their childhood's bloom.
poem by Liilia Talts Morrison
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To Julia
How rich and pleasing thou, my Julia, art,
In each thy dainty and peculiar part!
First, for thy Queen-ship on thy head is set
Of flowers a sweet commingled coronet;
About thy neck a carkanet is bound,
Made of the Ruby, Pearl, and Diamond;
A golden ring, that shines upon thy thumb;
About thy wrist the rich Dardanium;
Between thy breasts, than down of swans more white,
There plays the Sapphire with the Chrysolite.
No part besides must of thyself be known,
But by the Topaz, Opal, Calcedon.
poem by Robert Herrick
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To Give Me Love
to give me love
Jesus made green onions and dragon flies.
Roses are violet parme and purple and white.
Love is a creature living for life.
Eye do NOT send her flowers made of thistles
but ewe eye send to ewe mye love.
Eye search for colored roses
and eye look for flowers made of shaded hues,
because eye love ewe more than my own life;
more than simple poem words can tell.
Antidisestablishmentarianism and other knoeing words
aer hard for me to spell.
Eye speel ewe and love parme and violette and Mary.
My flowers made of white and purple stones.
to give me love
poem by Charles Hice
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A Woman's Farewell
SO with this farewell kiss I taste at last
The all of life; the Future and the Past
Upon your dear lips dwell.
Love will not come again, though I implore;
And in my heart a twilight evermore—
Farewell!
A man's heart is so wide that I was wrong
To dream that I could fill it with the song
A woman loves so well;
A woman's heart is narrow, but I filled
Mine brimming with your kisses—none was spilled—
Farewell!
So fierce your love was, I was half-afraid.
The roses blossom and the roses fade;
The withered petals tell!
So high into your heart you lifted me,
So far I have to fall, since it must be
Farewell!
Now all the world I fashioned round me falls;
And from the past one memory calls and calls,
Grieving, and like a knell;
Now all the days like drear regrets shall seem,
And all the nights—the nights! ..I dare not dream!
Farewell!
But what if I can hold you, hold you yet
Till all else but my lips you must forget:
If love could but compel!
But all the mystic hopes our hearts have heard
Must droop and wither to this wistful word—
Farewell!
My love was like a little child to me;
Now in my heart 't is crying piteously—
Hush, dear! all will be well!
My lips on yours for ever! Say again
You love me—though it be not true—and then—
Farewell!
poem by Arthur Henry Adams
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Waywise
THE darkest wood that the north-wind stings
Hath its balsamum and its silverlings,
Its violet interspace.
The bitterest sea that the wan moon knows
Hath its hushful archipelagoes,
Its coral populace.
And the wearlweariestest burden mortal bears
Hath, woven in with its somber cares,
Some broidery of grace.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun (Sonnet 130)
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Sonnet 130: My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks,
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know,
That music hath a far more pleasing sound.
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
poem by William Shakespeare
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I Can Boot A Droop
I can move from a mood that I've been brooding.
But I don't know why,
I can't give it up!
No...
I can move from a mood that I've been brooding.
And I will defy...
I'm in a rut and stuck up.
I can boot a droop.
And pooh pooh who I choose to leave.
I can fly from any coop.
And still enjoy my own company.
Hey...
I'm in no rut or stuck up,
Since I've got with me a rudder.
And...
I can boot a droop.
And choose to pooh pooh who I leave.
Hey...
I'm in no rut or stuck up,
Since I've got with me a rudder.
And...
I can boot a droop.
And choose to pooh pooh who I leave.
I said...I said...I said and able,
I can boot a droop...
And choose to pooh pooh who I leave.
I can move from a mood that I've been brooding.
But I don't know why,
I can't give it up!
But I can boot a droop and choose to pooh pooh,
Whom I please.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Girl With The Hungry Eyes
I like to move at the speed of light
Albert says I cant -- but I can
Circle of stone, circle of steel
I want to ride in an iron wheel
I am a child of atomic war
You are the daughter of the overlord
Lets get together on the killin floor
Give me -- more, more, more, more, more
Violet lightning
Violet lightning
Shes the girl with the hungry eyes
The girl with the hungry eyes
She holds up half the sky
The girl with the hungry eyes
I just met the girl with the perfect lips
I just met the girl with the perfect fit
Every atom in my body could inhale her
Speed of light girl, she is a sailor
Violet lightning
Violent lightning
Violet lightning
Now were movin at the speed of light
Now were movin at the speed of night
And your home gets filled with newer people, people, people
And all your friends are gone so hang on, hang on to the
Girl with the hungry eyes
She hold up half the sky -- shes the
Girl with the hungry eyes -- I love the
Girl with the hungry eyes
song performed by by Jefferson Starship
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Midsummer
After the May time and after the June time
Rare with blossoms and perfume sweet,
Cometh the round world's royal noon time,
The red midsummer of blazing heat,
When the sun, like an eye that never closes,
Bends on the earth its fervid gaze,
And the winds are still, and the crimson roses
Droop and wither and die in its rays.
Unto my heart has come this season,
O, my lady, my worshiped one,
When, over the stars of Pride and Reason,
Sails Love's cloudless, noonday sun.
Like a great red ball in my bosom burning
With fires that nothing can quench or tame,
It glows till my heart itself seems turning
Into a liquid lake of flame.
The hopes half shy and the sighs all tender,
The dreams and fears of an earlier day,
Under the noontide's royal splendor,
Droop like roses, and wither away.
From the hills of Doubt no winds are blowing,
From the isles of Pain no breeze is sent, -
Only the sun in a white heat glowing
Over an ocean of great content.
Sink, O my soul, in this golden glory!
Die, O my heart, in thy rapture-swoon!
For the Autumn must come with its mournful story.
And Love's midsummer will fade too soon.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Ten Roses
For every tear you cry,
I cry a hundred thousand more,
I'll give you ten roses,
For everything you're fighting for.
The first will be a red rose,
For courage and for health,
The second a bright yellow rose,
For gaining all life's wealth,
The third will be a soft pink rose,
So you may be happy in love,
The fourth will be a white rose,
Brought by a turtledove,
The fifth will be an orange rose,
To give you back your fire,
The sixth will be a deep pink rose,
So you may have what you desire,
The seventh will be a coral rose,
To gain you many friends,
The eighth will be a purple rose,
To guide you through life's bends,
The ninth will be a pale yellow rose,
To give you hope to try,
The tenth will be a black rose,
So you can mourn me when I die.
I have to leave my dearest friend,
But may the roses last you til my end,
I'm sorry I could not say goodbye,
Though ten roses I leave by your side.
I leave you with a kiss,
Along with these rose flowers,
I know I will be missed,
But I pray the roses will give you power,
Power to go on my love,
Power to be strong,
Power to get over me,
And let your life carry on
poem by Ruth warren
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Beside You
In the wilderness
walking alone
on your trail
imbibing the fragrance
of wayside spring flowers
gathering the bygones with care
the bouganvillas droop on the gate
with red roses clenched
tears gush and fall on the petals in my hand
Nothing is over yet
you are as alive as yesterday
your scent mingles in the nearby woods
and lingers around me
I lay the soaked roses on your grave
My body quivers as I kneel
and hold on to the dainty grass blades
the sun dazzles my moist eyes
here I dropp my false sword of courage
and weep like a child unhibited
clinging to the stone cross over you.
poem by Dr Madhavi Grace
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