Clemenceau
His frown brought terror to his foes,
But now in twilight of his days
The pure perfection of a rose
Can kindle rapture in his gaze.
Where once he swung the sword of wrath
And peoples trembled at his word,
With hoe he trims a pansied path
And listens to a bird.
His large of life was lived with noise,
With war and strife and crash of kings:
But now he hungers for the joys
Of peace, and hush of homely things.
His old dog nuzzles by his knee,
And seems to say: 'Oh Master dear,
Please do not ever part from me!
We are so happy here.'
His ancient maid, as sky draws dim,
Calls to him that the soup grows cold.
She tyrannises over him
Who once held armies in his hold.
With slippers, old skull-cap and shawl
He dreams and dozes by the fire,
Sighing: 'Behold the end of all,
Sweet rest my sole desire.
'My task is done, my pen is still;
My Book is there for all to see,--
The final triumph of my will,
Ineffably, my victory.
A Tiger once, but now a lamb,
With frailing hand my gate I close.
How hushed my heart! My life how calm!
--Its crown a Rose.'
poem by Robert William Service
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Related quotes
To Eva
O Fair and stately maid, whose eye
Was kindled in the upper sky
At the same torch that lighted mine;
For so I must interpret still
Thy sweet dominion o'er my will,
A sympathy divine.
Ah! let me blameless gaze upon
Features that seem in heart my own,
Nor fear those watchful sentinels
Which charm the more their glance forbids,
Chaste glowing underneath their lids
With fire that draws while it repels.
Thine eyes still shined for me, though far
I lonely roved the land or sea,
As I behold yon evening star,
Which yet beholds not me.
This morn I climbed the misty hill,
And roamed the pastures through;
How danced thy form before my path,
Amidst the deep-eyed dew!
When the red bird spread his sable wing,
And showed his side of flame,
When the rose-bud ripened to the rose,
In both I read thy name.
poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson
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Such a Rose In The Heart Of Rose
Such a Rose In The Heart Of Rose) it
blooms in my heart that rose(upon
me that grows, no matter where I leave
my heart dear(it loves on me to grow.
Bound up in thorns my love, I lay on beds
of them forever waiting to grow, with you
dear, as I bend to smell, that one red rose.
My heart is your rose, it climbs, and beats
when pricked, by the thorn, to be carried up
to every rose on the bush.My rose, your heart,
it blooms in love, each beat lifts to crown the
the heart, as the sun heats them both, to feed
each root that folds my heart back into the rose.
Such a Rose In The Heart Of Rose;
poem by Is It Poetry
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A Rose in the heart of rose
A Rose In The Heart Of Rose
it blooms in my heart
that rose upon me that grows,
no matter where I leave my heart
dear it loves on me to grow.
Bound up in thorns my love,
I lay on beds of them forever
waiting to grow, with you
dear, as I bend to smell, that one red rose.
My heart is your rose,
it climbs, and beats
when pricked, by the thorn,
to be carried up
to every rose on the bush.
My rose, your heart,
it blooms in love, each beat lifts to
crown the the heart, as the sun heats them
both, to feed each root that folds
my heart back into the rose.
Such a Rose In The Heart Of Rose
poem by Anees Akbar
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A Birth-Night Song
The Child is rocked on Mary's knee,
Cold in the stall this bitter night,
And 'Lullalay-loo,' soft singeth she,
'My little Boy and Heaven's Delight!'
When singing stars went up the sky
The Prince of Peace oped a sweet eye.
His Highness now how small He lies!
He to be God and Very God!
A Jacob's ladder spans the skies
Whereof each rung is angel-trod,
And all their carols are of Peace,
Though the sick world hath little ease.
Come in, poor war-worn folk, and rest;
Kneel where the sinless creatures kneel;
The Babe snugged warm in Mother's breast,
He is your Wound-Wort, your All-Heal
Balsam for hurts that throb and smart,
Small Rose of Love on Mary's heart.
Shut close within His hand so small
The sick heart's medicine; not a sword.
Come in, come in, sad people all,
Here is your ancient peace restored!
'Lullalay-loo,' sings Mary mild,
Kissing her God, her Lamb, her Child.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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My Rose Of Sharon
I was living in an empty desert with no meaning to my life,
Then one day I found this beautiful Rose of Sharon, who is the living Christ.
And this lovely Rose forever blooms;
Its sweet fragrance has filled all my rooms.
It has no thorns; they've all been taken away,
I know this Rose is here to stay.
It brightens all my days, and is my dearest friend.
On this never changing Rose I can trust and depend.
This divine Rose of Sharon is so perfect and fair,
And it brings me peace, and love, and joy beyond compare.
Such a calm content feeling it sends,
Each heartache and pain it always mends.
I know in this life perfection I will never attain,
But since this Rose has left it's fragrance on me, I have never been the same,
And as I share this fragrance with those in need I see,
This beautiful Rose of Sharon will bloom in me.
poem by Evelyn Locke Irvin
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To Louise
OH, the poets may sing of their Lady Irenes,
And may rave in their rhymes about wonderful queens;
But I throw my poetical wings to the breeze,
And soar in a song to my Lady Louise.
A sweet little maid, who is dearer, I ween,
Than any fair duchess, or even a queen.
When speaking of her I can't plod in my prose,
For she's the wee lassie who gave me a rose.
Since poets, from seeing a lady's lip curled,
Have written fair verse that has sweetened the world;
Why, then, should not I give the space of an hour
To making a song in return for a flower?
I have found in my life — it has not been so long —
There are too few of flowers — too little of song.
So out of that blossom, this lay of mine grows,
For the dear little lady who gave me the rose.
I thank God for innocence, dearer than Art,
That lights on a by-way which leads to the heart,
And led by an impulse no less than divine,
Walks into the temple and sits at the shrine.
I would rather pluck daisies that grow in the wild,
Or take one simple rose from the hand of a child,
Than to breathe the rich fragrance of flowers that bide
In the gardens of luxury, passion, and pride.
I know not, my wee one, how came you to know
Which way to my heart was the right way to go;
Unless in your purity, soul-clean and dear,
God whispers his messages into your ear.
You have now had my song, let me end with a prayer
That your life may be always sweet, happy, and fair;
That your joys may be many, and absent your woes,
O dear little lady who gave me the rose!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Erase
From Bye Bye Birdie soundtrack
JA:
I was never crazy for flowers
I confess that nothing left me colder.
I could watch a daisy for hours
and all i'd feel was several hours older.
Lilacs or lilies,
anything you please
all that they did was make me shrug or sneeze.
But now i love each blossom that i see
for a lovely little rose loves me.
Now my life is Rosie,
since i found my Rosie.
With a girl like rosie
how could i be blue?
Hand in hand we'll mosey
Me and little Rosie.
We will be so cozy
by a fire built for two.
Oh i once heard a poem that goes
A rose is a rose is a rose.
But i don't agree
Take it from me,
There's one rose sweeter than any that grows
That's my Rosie.
I'm so glad you chose me.
Life is one, sweet, beautiful song
to me.
JA: Now my life is Rosie
VW: Oh, we'll be happy I know.
JA: Since I found my Rosie.
VW: Off to the preacher we'll go.
JA: With a girl like ROsie
VW: So how could we
JA: How could I be blue?
VW: Be blue?
VW: Oh we'll have us a home out west.
A nice, little split, level nest.
And in every room, roses in bloom
JA: but there's one Rose sweeter than all of the rest.
JA: And that's my Rosie
Both:
I'm so glad you chose me.
Life is one, sweet, beautiful song.
If love is right, then, what could be wrong?
Life is one, sweet, beautiful song to me.
song performed by by Vanessa Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Memoria
If only in my dreams I may behold thee,
Still hath the day a goal;
If only in my dreams I may enfold thee,
Still hath the night a soul.
Leaden the hours may press upon my spirit
Nor one dear pledge redeem;
I will not chide, so they at last inherit
And crown me with the rapture of that dream.
Ten thousand blossoms earth's gay gardens cherish;
One pale, pale rose is mine.
Of frost or blight the rest may quickly perish;
Not so that rose divine:
Deathless it blooms in quiet realms Elysian,
And when toil wins me rest,
Forgetful of all else, in blissful vision
I breathe my rose, and clasp it to my breast!
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Love After Sorrow
Behold, this hour I love, as in the glory of morn.
I too, the accursèd one, whom griefs pursue
Like phantoms through a land of deaths forlorn,
Have felt my heart leap up with courage new.
Behold, I love. The tragedy of hate's derision
Has like a storm--cloud vanished and is done.
High in its path my hope has burst its prison
And stands transfigured, a resplendent sun.
Where are the ghosts of sorrow that beset my road,
The foes that mocked, the fools that fled from me?
Peace be their portion all who sought my blood.
I care not for fear's bondage who am free.
O days of youth renewed! Love's voice, a singing bird's,
Thrills me to tears more sweet than laughters are.
His silence godlike speaks to me in words
Dearer than minstrelsy in lands afar.
These halls, e'erwhile of pride, my sorrow's palaces,
Are decked for joy, and with high pomps and shows
Proclaim his lordship of all life that is
In passionate echoes of remembered vows.
The gardens are grown thick once more with scent of flowers
Moss--roses by the wall, sweet lavenders,
Larkspurs, red lilies. Who shall tell what dowers
Of musks and mallows golden shall be hers?
Hers? Whose? Oh, if a tongue should tell of dreams unwise
And love might blazon love to ears abroad,
How would I speak! But let this word suffice,
That to my lips one name leaps like a sword,
And that I live once more and love all sentient things,
The spirit of the Earth, and the Sun's fire,
And the night's silence and hushed wanderings,
And her who is the soul of my desire.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Just One Rose...
that's a homework i need you to tell me if i should hand it to the teacher or not...(:
just one rose, a pretty rose...
just one rose for me with no coze...
just one rose pure and true...
just one rose for me is all i can do...
just one rose somewhere out there...
just one rose for me to care...
just one rose when dark days prevail...
just one rose when people only use petrail...
just one rose and all the time...
just one rosefor me is a crime...
poem by rose of death XxX
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If I Close Would You Open
let the Poseidon
of Greek god’s hover
my day and open my lips to
whisper the sweet embrace of your
smell
let me do
the herculean task to
make the gate of your bosom heart and listen
to my
pleading of stay, rapture the
anger that made you pave with me; since you
come to my life,
find me the way and close my knee to
vow all the luck that bends my open heart
to pray
let me do this again without
the peculiar feeling that take me in the shadow of
weird intense feeling to lie
down my flesh into the fuming fire
of love, please settle my arm in your heart
and die with you in the humid sky
where the beacon of giving taste my lips
to surrender
lead me to rest my dear and open my soul to
die without pain in memory of me
I love you
poem by Antonio Liao
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Reasons For Rapture
there were reasons for rapture
more are coming and the heart merely listens
weak, and submissive to the speed of the
brain's efficient delights: logic, pertinence,
materiality, relevance,
reason brags, a smooth line, without curves,
a stare of the eyes, unblinking to emotions,
if this is this, then this must be that,
and given the facts, these are the only
possibilities, nothing obscure, nothing absurd,
and everything went on smoothly like a jet
propulsion creating a smoke sort of impression
on the clouds on that clear day when you held
your hand at the tip of your cap, solid and stable,
on the day of the hearts, where can reason be?
you receive no calls, no text, no card, this is passe,
no rose, no email, no greetings from the gate or
the path where you pass your life, tears flow like
regret that came late, always late, well, this is not
the end, you are strong, you know what to do,
embrace reason again, and feel like a new machine.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Wild Rose
The first wild rose in wayside hedge,
This year I wandering see,
I pluck, and send it as a pledge,
My own Wild Rose, to Thee.
For when my gaze first met thy gaze,
We were knee-deep in June:
The nights were only dreamier days,
And all the hours in tune.
I found thee, like the eglantine,
Sweet, simple, and apart;
And, from that hour, thy smile hath been
The flower that scents my heart.
And, ever since, when tendrils grace
Young copse or weathered bole
With rosebuds, straight I see thy face,
And gaze into thy soul.
A natural bud of love Thou art,
Where, gazing down, I view,
Deep hidden in thy fragrant heart,
A drop of heavenly dew.
Go, wild rose, to my Wild Rose dear;
Bid her come swift and soon.
O would that She were always here!
It then were always June.
poem by Alfred Austin
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A Perfect Rose
A Perfect Rose
So deep and pure, the one I chose
From this earthly garden. a perfect rose,
Fragile, yet it only bends,
In times of rain are days of winds.
Close to my heart, this rose I hold,
Its' beauty to me like solid gold,
A perfect rose that means so much,
That I am thrilled by a single touch.
A perfect rose it has been said,
Is the symbol of love, a long stem red,
No others can or will compete
For my perfect rose so soft and sweet.
My love for the rose, a beauty still,
Has not faded and never will,
This rose I hold, the one I chose,
My loving wife, a perfect rose.
Richard Netherland Cook
poem by Richard Netherland Cook
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Kisses
Sweet, can I sing you the song of your kisses?
How soft is this one, how subtle this is,
How fluttering swift as a bird's kiss that is,
As a bird that taps at a leafy lattice;
How this one clings and how that uncloses
From bud to flower in the way of roses;
And this through laughter and that through weeping
Swims to the brim where Love lies sleeping;
And this in a pout I snatch, and capture
That in the ecstasy of rapture,
When the odorous red-rose petals part
That my lips may find their way to the heart
Of the rose of the world, your lips, my rose.
But no song knows
The way of my heart to the heart of my rose.
poem by Arthur Symons
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Idler's Song
I sit in the twilight dim
At the close of an idle day,
And I list to the soft sweet hymn,
That rises far away,
And dies on the evening air.
Oh, all day long,
They sing their song,
Who toil in the valley there.
But never a song sing I,
Sitting with folded hands,
The hours pass me by -
Dropping their golden sands -
And I list, from day to day,
To the 'tick, tick, tock'
Of the old brown clock,
Ticking my life away.
And I see the twilight fade,
And I see the night come on,
And then, in the gloom and shade,
I weep for the day that's gone -
Weep and wail in pain,
For the misspent day
That has flown away,
And will not come again.
Another morning beams,
And I forget the last,
And I sit in idle dreams
Till the day over - past.
Oh, the toiler's heart is glad!
When the day is gone
And the night comes on,
But mine is sore and sad.
For I dare not look behind!
No shining, golden sheaves
Can I ever hope to find:
Nothing but withered leaves.
Ah! dreams are very sweet!
But will not please
If only these
I lay at the Master's feet.
And what will the Master say
To dreams and nothing more?
Oh, idler, all the day!
Think, ere thy life is o'er!
And when the day grows late,
Oh, soul of sin!
Will He let you in,
There at the pearly gate?
Oh, idle heart, beware!
On, to the field of strife!
On, to the valley there!
And live a useful life!
Up, do not wait a day!
For the old brown clock,
With its 'tick, tick, tock, '
Is ticking your life away.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose
A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose
Not only because of its colour
And not only because of it fragrance
A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose
Also because of the thorns
It holds very close
A gain is a gain is a gain is a gain
Not only because of its pleasure
And the attendant treasure
A gain is a gain is a gain is a gain
Also because of the pain
That, as a part with gain does remain
A joy is a joy is a joy is a joy
Not only because of the emotional elevation
And sorrow attenuation
A joy is a joy is a joy is a joy
Because of the efforts did you employ
A success is a success is a success is a success
Not only because another milestone cross
And because of the new fame you will soon possess
A success is a success is a success is a success
Because you did sweat in the process
A peace is a peace is a peace is a peace
Not only because of the tranquility
And because of the balanced ability
A peace is a peace is a peace is a peace
Because of the war waged against
Disturbance and instability
Full impact of a thing comes to full visibility
Only when its contrast is held in close vicinity
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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A Sweet Song Of Love
Listen to this sweet song of love,
a different love song of our strife.
The victory of truth in life,
listen to this sweet song of love....
Walking together in our dreams where have we reached,
just look how blue is the sky here.
Our song is even sung by the birds here,
where ever our eyes can see is pure light spread.
Listen to this sweet song of love,
a different love song of our strife.
The victory of truth in life,
listen to this sweet song of love....
Cool cool breezes blow here always,
beyond the stars is our little cottage.
The rainbow colours are here to manage,
they where they commence their journeyof joys.
Listen to this sweet song of love,
a different love song of our strife.
The victory of truth in life,
listen to this sweet song of love....
Forbidden to meet each other in this world,
encircled within our customs were we both.
imprisoned and guarded were we both,
we died in breaking away from the customs of this world.
Listen to this sweet song of love,
a different love song of our strife.
The victory of truth in life,
listen to this sweet song of love....
poem by Renu Kakkar
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Winter Rose II A Love Story
As special as a rose of red, that bloomed despite the frost
Is the man for whom the red rose bloomed
Without one, the other was lost.
When first these two souls chanced to meet
The rose was just a bud,
The man was but a boy, a child,
Unsure of how to love.
But with the gentlest of trembling hands
He held the rose with care
And gazed in silent wonder
At the beauty he found there
For no matter how cold the winter winds
Nor dark the blackness of night
He had only to turn to the Winter Rose
And all the world seemed right
And although the rose no longer grows
In the presence of the man
Her everlasting love will be
Forever at his hand
For he has only but to close his eyes
And open his heart to see
That, in him, her loving light will shine
For all enernity
poem by Dolores Parsons
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Alle Zattere
Only to live, only to be
In Venice, is enough for me.
To be a beggar, and to lie
At home beneath the equal sky,
To feel the sun, to drink the night,
Had been enough for my delight;
Happy because the sun allowed
The luxury of being proud
Not to some only; but to all
The right to lie along the wall.
Here my ambition dies; I ask
No more than some half-idle task,
To be done idly, and to fill
Some gaps of leisure when I will.
I care not if the world forget
That it was ever in my debt;
I care not where its prizes fall;
I long for nothing, having all.
The sun each morning, on his way,
Calls for me at the Zattere;
I wake and greet him, I go out,
Meet him, and follow him about;
We spend the day together, he
Goes to bed early; as for me,
I make the moon my mistress, prove
Constant to my inconstant love.
For she is coy with me, will hie
To my arms amorously, and fly
Ere I have kissed her; ah! but she,
She it is, to eternity,
I adore only; and her smile
Bewilders the enchanted isle
To more celestial magic, glows
At once the crystal and the rose.
The crazy lover of the moon,
I hold her, on the still lagoon,
Sometimes I hold her in my arms;
'Tis her cold silver kiss that warms
My blood to singing, and puts fire
Into the heart of my desire.
And all desire in Venice dies
To such diviner lunacies.
Life dreams itself: the world goes on,
Oblivious, in oblivion;
Life dreams itself, contents to keep
Happy immortality, in sleep.
poem by Arthur Symons
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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