Upon The Nipples Of Julia's Breast
Have ye beheld (with much delight)
A red rose peeping through a white?
Or else a cherry (double graced)
Within a lily? Centre placed?
Or ever marked the pretty beam
A strawberry shows half drowned in cream?
Or seen rich rubies blushing through
A pure smooth pearl, and orient too?
So like to this, nay all the rest,
Is each neat niplet of her breast.
poem by Robert Herrick
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The Lily In A Crystal
You have beheld a smiling rose
When virgins' hands have drawn
O'er it a cobweb-lawn:
And here, you see, this lily shows,
Tomb'd in a crystal stone,
More fair in this transparent case
Than when it grew alone,
And had but single grace.
You see how cream but naked is,
Nor dances in the eye
Without a strawberry;
Or some fine tincture, like to this,
Which draws the sight thereto,
More by that wantoning with it,
Than when the paler hue
No mixture did admit.
You see how amber through the streams
More gently strokes the sight,
With some conceal'd delight,
Than when he darts his radiant beams
Into the boundless air;
Where either too much light his worth
Doth all at once impair,
Or set it little forth.
Put purple grapes or cherries in-
To glass, and they will send
More beauty to commend
Them, from that clean and subtle skin,
Than if they naked stood,
And had no other pride at all,
But their own flesh and blood,
And tinctures natural.
Thus lily, rose, grape, cherry, cream,
And strawberry do stir
More love, when they transfer
A weak, a soft, a broken beam;
Than if they should discover
At full their proper excellence,
Without some scene cast over,
To juggle with the sense.
Thus let this crystall'd lily be
A rule, how far to teach
Your nakedness must reach;
And that no further than we see
Those glaring colours laid
By art's wise hand, but to this end
They should obey a shade,
Lest they too far extend.
--So though you're white as swan or snow,
And have the power to move
A world of men to love;
Yet, when your lawns and silks shall flow,
And that white cloud divide
Into a doubtful twilight;--then,
Then will your hidden pride
Raise greater fires in men.
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poem by Robert Herrick
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There Is A Garden In Her Face
There is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies grow;
A heav'nly paradise is that place
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow.
There cherries grow which none may buy,
Till 'Cherry ripe' themselves do cry.
Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow;
Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy,
Till 'Cherry ripe' themselves do cry.
Her eyes like angels watch them still,
Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that attempt with eye or hand
Those sacred cherries to come nigh,
Till 'Cherry ripe' themselves do cry.
poem by Thomas Campion
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There is a Garden in Her Face
There is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies grow;
A heav'nly paradise is that place
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow.
There cherries grow which none may buy
Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.
Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds filled with snow;
Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy,
Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.
Her eyes like angels watch them still;
Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that attempt, with eye or hand
Those sacred cherries to come nigh
Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.
poem by Thomas Champion (1619)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Cherry-Ripe
THERE is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies blow;
A heavenly paradise is that place,
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow:
There cherries grow which none may buy
Till 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry.
Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow;
Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy
Till 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry.
Her eyes like angels watch them still;
Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that attempt with eye or hand
Those sacred cherries to come nigh,
Till 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry.
poem by Thomas Campion
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Three Flowers
I made a little song about the rose
And sang it for the rose to hear,
Nor ever marked until the music's close
A lily that was listening near.
The red red rose flushed redder with delight,
And like a queen her head she raised.
The white white lily blanched a paler white,
For anger that she was not praised.
Turning I left the rose unto her pride,
The lily to her enviousness,
And soon upon the grassy ground espied
A daisy all companionless.
Doubtless no flattered flower is this, I deemed;
And not so graciously it grew
As rose or lily: but methought it seemed
More thankful for the sun and dew.
Dear love, my sweet small flower that grew'st among
The grass, from all the flowers apart,-
Forgive me that I gave the rose my song,
Ere thou, the daisy, hadst my heart!
poem by William Watson
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Strawberry Delight
Strawberry
The texture.
The sexture.
With cream
A dream.
The taste
Unchaste.
Made to share.
For a pair
In love.
So red
Does it blush.
When ice has a crush.
In a smooth delight.
Our milkshake
Of the night.
And that kiss,
I reminisce,
Imprinted on my shirt.
The fruit
Of a heated embrace.
The flirt
Still makes my heart race.
Strawberry
The food.
The mood,
Of amour.
My heart beats
Like a sdrum
On the shore.
Will she come
Again tonight.
Another strawberry delight.
poem by Kevin East
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Cherry-lipped Adonis...
Cherry-lipped Adonis in his snowy shape,
Might not compare with his pure ivory white,
On whose fair front a poet's pen might write,
Whose rosiate red excels the crimson grape.
His love-enticing delicate soft limbs,
Are rarely framed t' intrap poor gazing eyes;
His cheeks, the lily and carnation dyes,
With lovely tincture which Apollo's dims.
His lips ripe strawberries in nectar wet,
His mouth a hive, his tongue a honeycomb,
Where muses (like bees) make their mansion.
His teeth pure pearl in blushing coral set.
Oh how can such a body sin-procuring,
Be slow to love, and quick to hate, enduring?
poem by Richard Barnfield
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-75
Spider lily(Beach spider lily
Hymenocallis littoralis)
Calm and lovely, she's Spider Lily
White and peace she's Spider Lily
Pristine and pure she's Spider Lily
Silent and certain she's Spider Lily
There, up above the fanning leaves
Asunder below staminal cup she's
Overflowing her nectarian streams
Mind-blowing her aura measureless
Sacred tepals lofty with beauty
Stamens atop splurging as deputy
There goes heaven's sweet ditty
Miss not a white goddess pretty
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Rose-Morals
I. -- Red.
Would that my songs might be
What roses make by day and night --
Distillments of my clod of misery
Into delight.
Soul, could'st thou bare thy breast
As yon red rose, and dare the day,
All clean, and large, and calm with velvet rest?
Say yea -- say yea!
Ah, dear my Rose, good-bye;
The wind is up; so; drift away.
That songs from me as leaves from thee may fly,
I strive, I pray.
II. -- White.
Soul, get thee to the heart
Of yonder tuberose: hide thee there --
There breathe the meditations of thine art
Suffused with prayer.
Of spirit grave yet light,
How fervent fragrances uprise
Pure-born from these most rich and yet most white
Virginities!
Mulched with unsavory death,
Grow, Soul! unto such white estate,
That virginal-prayerful art shall be thy breath,
Thy work, thy fate.
poem by Sidney Lanier
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A Lilly
a scarlet rose,
standing in the crowd
its one of them
it doesn't stand out
it's like the rest
it's not the best
it's just a rose
like the rest
but then comes
the gardener
that planted them all from the start
he says
i'll trade you in for a lilly, if you'll bloom
and now the rose has the choice
using it's symbolic voice
to go on being a rose, or become a lilly and bloom
if just does that for him
no more worries, not problems
and so it makes the choice to swap the life of a rose
he dives into some water and blooms into a lily
and it that sense it's died
and it came back up and yes it didn't cry
for now it was lilly, and now it's life was pretty
no longer is it a scarlet rose
standing in the crowd
it's not one of them
it does stand out
from the rest
it's in of the best, worlds
it's not just a rose
like the rest
it's a lily
poem by Mona Willis
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Near the craddle [Lângă leagăn]
On your forehead a nice wreath made of myrtle I will place
And around your neck I'll tie a rich necklace full of grace,
On your smooth and rounded arm like the lily petals, white,
I'll put bracelets, coral red, and fine rubies shining bright.
A nice dress as white as foam, light as clouds which cross the sky,
On your shoulders I will hang and like angels who can fly
You will also fly away – but instead of mother's kiss
Your dear soul will then be rocked by sweet love and perfect bliss.
poem by Veronica Micle, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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A Pink Rose
A Pink rose is for the one,
Where love has blossomed and bloomed,
Where passion and purity,
With love and peace,
Combines and grows,
That brings forth the Pink rose,
Of the Red rose,
And of the White rose,
When both entwine,
Comes the Pink rose,
For all the blushing brides,
When the proposal is asked,
With the Pink rose as a sign,
Is one asking another,
In love and loves first
Red and White,
That all will show,
And carry a wedding bonquet,
Are all the Blushing brides to be,
For the Pink rose if for the one,
Where love has blossomed and bloomed,
Representing passion and purity,
That has love and peace,
Combining and growing,
From two different in color,
One extreme to another,
From the Red and the White,
That combine,
And show true love,
A Pink rose evolves,
Showing true love,
It shows in it's splendor of Pink,
For the blushing bride to be,
So to say,
'I do',
When the question is popped,
On this Valentines Day,
Valentine's Day,
A day of proposal's,
Where it is asked,
From one to another,
'Will you be mine',
From this Valentine's Day,
On to,
The next,
And,
The next,
And,
There after.
poem by Ellen Ni Bheachain
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The Star And The Water Lily
THE SUN stepped down from his golden throne,
And lay in the silent sea,
And the Lily had folded her satin leaves,
For a sleepy thing was she;
What is the Lily dreaming of?
Why crisp the waters blue?
See, see, she is lifting her varnished lid!
Her white leaves are glistening through!
The Rose is cooling his burning cheek
In the lap of the breathless tide; —
The Lily hath sisters fresh and fair,
That would lie by the Rose's side;
He would love her better than all the rest,
And he would be fond and true; —
But the Lily unfolded her weary lids,
And looked at the sky so blue.
Remember, remember, thou silly one,
How fast will thy summer glide,
And wilt thou wither a virgin pale,
Or flourish a blooming bride?
'O the rose is old, and thorny, and cold,
And he lives on earth, ' said she;
'But the Star is fair and he lives in the air,
And he shall my bridegroom be.'
But what if the stormy cloud should come,
And ruffle the silver sea?
Would he turn his eye from the distant sky,
To smile on a thing like thee?
O no, fair Lily, he will not send
One ray from his far-off throne;
The winds shall blow and the waves shall flow,
And thou wilt be left alone.
There is not a leaf on the mountain-top
Nor a dropp of evening dew,
Nor a golden sand on the sparkling shore,
Nor a pearl in the waters blue,
That he has not cheered with his fickle smile,
And warmed with his faithless beam, —
And will he be true to a pallid flower,
That floats on the quiet stream?
Alas for the Lily! she would not heed,
But turned to the skies afar,
And bared her breast to the trembling ray
That shot from the rising star;
The cloud came over the darkened sky,
And over the waters wide:
She looked in vain through the beating rain,
And sank in the stormy tide.
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Lily-white Child
lily white child
hallow to thy fair
the twinklin bliss of thy eye
and beatific expression of thy face
to thy sublime innocent
in d spectrum of thy beauty
Ooh lily-white child
thy aesthetic opulency
like nebula of stars
in the terrain of rainbow
lily white child
smile like of heaven wide
sapphire teeth of angel
hallow to thy halo pure
lily white child
pure like distilled water.
poem by Samuel Francis Leumas
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Monkey Butt with Choca Mocha
It's not my favorite...
But it's hot!
This flavor tasted that I've got!
It satisfies a need that's fed...
A craving that has stopped inside my head!
A temporary drop,
In my pocket.
I will admit a feeding has been met!
A soothing to a drooling has been cooled.
Addicted to a moment of regret that's soothed!
Put a double on the cone for me!
With a cherry on the top...
Sitting on whipped cream with meaning!
Put a double on the cone for me!
Since you're out of Maple Nut...
I'll take take two scoops of 'Monkey Butt'.
And come back and get that 'Choca Mocha'!
Put a double on the cone for me!
With a cherry on the top...
Sitting on whipped cream with meaning!
Put a double on the cone for me!
Since you're out of Maple Nut...
Give me 'Monkey Butt' with 'Choca Mocha'!
Wait!
Leave the 'Monkey Butt'
And add two 'Choca Mochas'!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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First rose
A heart of youthful year was yearning,
Crying out the pain; the burning
Tears would e’er remain until
An answer from the man would see them die.
A sympathetic mirror blessed her –
Softened up the curves, caressed her
Skin to help regain a calm –
Assuage a heaving breast and blushing eye.
And through a struggling mind, a chiming:
Someone at the door; the timing
Perfect and exquisite in the
Reconciliation of her woes.
She took the oak to make the parting,
‘Here! ’ a presentation startling.
Drawing deep through radiant lips, she
Kissed her very dream: a crimson rose.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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There Was a Cherry-Tree
There was a cherry-tree. Its bloomy snows
Cool even now the fevered sight that knows
No more its airy visions of pure joy --
As when you were a boy.
There was a cherry-tree. The Bluejay sat
His blue against its white -- O blue as jet
He seemed there then!-- But now -- Whoever knew
He was so pale a blue!
There was a cherry-tree -- our child-eyes saw
The miracle:-- Its pure white snows did thaw
Into a crimson fruitage, far too sweet
But for a boy to eat.
There was a cherry-tree, give thanks and joy!--
There was a bloom of snow -- There was a boy --
There was a bluejay of the realest blue --
And fruit for both of you.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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An Autumn Treasure-Trove
'Tis the time of the year's sundown, and flame
Hangs on the maple bough;
And June is the faded flower of a name;
The thin hedge hides not a singer now.
Yet rich am I; for my treasures be
The gold afloat in my willow-tree.
Sweet morn on the hillside dripping with dew,
Girded with blue and pearl,
Counts the leaves afloat in the streamlet too;
As the love-lorn heart of a wistful girl,
She sings while her soul brooding tearfully
Sees a dream of gold in the willow-tree.
All day pure white and saffron at eve,
Clouds awaiting the sun
Turn them at length to ghosts that leave
When the moon's white path is slowly run
Till the morning comes, and with joy for me
O'er my gold agleam in the willow-tree.
The lilacs that blew on the breast of May
Are an old and lost delight;
And the rose lies ruined in his careless way
As the wind turns the poplars underwhite,
Yet richer am I for the autumn; see
All my misty gold in the willow-tree.
poem by Eugene Field
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The White Rose o' June
Air - 'Voice of Spring.'
Now the bricht sun, and the soft simmer showers,
Deck a' the woods and the gardens wi' flowers;
But bonny and sweet though the hale o' them be,
There's ane aboon a' that is dearest to me;
An' oh, that's the white rose, the white rose o' June,
An' may
he
that should wear it come back again sune!
It's no on my breast, nor yet in my hair,
That emblem dear I venture to wear;
But it blooms in my heart, and its white leaves I weet,
When alane in the gloamin' I wander to greet,
O'er the white rose, the white rose, the white rose o' June,
An' may
he
that should wear it come back again sune!
Mair fragrant and rich the red rose may be,
But there is nae spell to bind it to me;
But dear to my heart and to fond memorie,
Tho' scathed and tho' blighted the white rose may be.
O the white rose, the white rose, the white rose o' June,
O may
he
that should wear it come back again sune!
An' oh! may the true hearts thy perils who share,
Remember'd wi' tears, and remember'd in prayer,
Whom misfortune's rude blast has sent far awa',
Fair breezes bring back sune to cottage and ha';-
Then, O sing the white rose, the white rose o' June,
An' may
he
that should wear it wear Scotland's auld croun!
poem by Carolina Oliphant
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-77
Rain Lily Rose(Zephyranthes rosea)
Primrose Rain Lily(Zephyranthes primulina)
Yellow Rain Lily(Zephyranthes citrina)
Fairy Lily(pink rain lily, Zephyranthes carinata)
Fairy Lily(white rain lily, Zephyranthes candida)
Ah, o'dear I found you at Kalakad
Brought and planted in my yard
Knowing not then much of matter
About you and your family fatter
And when you grew prettily wide
Rain God in love one day pattered
Awesome to see you basked in joy
Blossoming making me too enjoy
You were rose with sister yellow
White or pink or primrose yellow-
Somewhere yonder all far farther
Only you rose and yellow together
Short and flared yellow upward
Potted or fielded grassy leaved
Small and green throated lily rose
To green tube funneled rosy tepals
O'rain lilies, so yellow and rose
Bloom, bloom often by rainy showers
Bordered or potted or clumped lot
Gathered in gentle bliss in my heart
poem by Indira Renganathan
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