Sweet Horn
WHAT is St. Francis' flower? 'T is not
The daisy nor the melilot,
Nor that white little flower that springs
In Grasmere's quiet garden-plot.
'T is not the lily-flower that blows
In some high heaven of repose.
'T is not the sorrow of the thorn,
Nor utter passion of the rose.
It is the wild-heart eglantine,
(Sweet bush to a far sweeter wine),
With joy for man, sweet-thorn for Christ,
Not pagan all, not all divine.
poem by Philip Henry Savage
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Related quotes
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poisoned Thorn Apple
I have love a thorn apple flower,
Which is scentless and very cute white flower-
But it is full of poisoned.
I have decorate my home only by this flower
Take care it every moment by my over capacity and
Forget all everything for this flower.
I don’t know when some poison
Have scatter in my whole body.
It has make me Mad,
It has make me homeless,
it have make me alone,
It has make me hungry,
It has make me sleepless,
It has made me guard in dark night.
It has make me a dirty boy
On the street.
Oh my thorn apple flower!
poem by Shahin Mallik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Picked A Flower
I picked a flower from a bush
And I loved it so
Put it in a vase next to my bed
But how was I to know
That the flower cried for its bush
That the bush cried for its flower
But how was I to know
That the flower would die in an hour
The flower withered away
And I put it inside my book
Because I loved the flower so
But how was I to know
That the flower gasped for breath
That it was facing death
But how was I to know
That the flower so badly wanted to go
And I kept the flower close to me
So that every day I could see
But how was I know
That the flower that I had loved so
Had always hated me
That there was pain I couln't see
And how was I to know?
poem by Shobhita Singh
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Where the passion flower grows
Lay down on your pillow
and turn the lights down low
let me take you to the garden
where the passion flower grows
Close your eyes and enter dreams
as love's emotion sets the scene
and flitters through the garden
where the passion flower grows
Touch the tender petals
of the flower as she grows
a tentative endeavour
as your feelings overflow
Let me draw you to the place
where ecstasy can be embraced
the beauty of the garden
where the passion flower grows
Feel your mind exploding
in the heavy scented air
experience the shiver
as your captured unaware
A little touch of heaven
where imagination flows
the valley in the garden
where the passion flower grows.
poem by Charles M. Moore
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The rose that bares no thorn
The rose that bares no thorn
~
How beautiful and pure
How sweetly kind and innocent
How loving to look upon
The rose that bares no thorn
Gentle to the tender touch
Pleasing to the hearts own eye
Of all that is beautiful
Is seen and known with joy
Seasoned into memory
To grow and flower once more
Let love be known and named
Then kept forevermore
As natural as the morning dew
So still, sweet and innocent
Never to cut or hurt
The rose that bares no thorn
Is a love in full bloom
poem by Matthew Holloway
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In The Valley
Said the yellow-haired Spirit of Spring
To the white-footed Spirit of Snow,
“On the wings of the tempest take wing,
And leave me the valleys, and go.”
And, straightway, the streams were unchained,
And the frost-fettered torrents broke free,
And the strength of the winter-wind waned
In the dawn of a light on the sea.
Then a morning-breeze followed and fell,
And the woods were alive and astir
With the pulse of a song in the dell,
And a whisper of day in the fir.
Swift rings of sweet water were rolled
Down the ways where the lily-leaves grew,
And the green, and the white, and the gold,
Were wedded with purple and blue.
But the lips of the flower of the rose
Said, “where is the ending hereof?
Is it sweet with you, life, at the close?
Is it sad to be emptied of love?”
And the voice of the flower of the peach
Was tender and touching in tone,
“When each has been grafted on each,
It is sorrow to live on alone.”
Then the leaves of the flower of the vine
Said, “what will there be in the day
When the reapers are red with my wine,
And the forests are yellow and grey?”
And the tremulous flower of the quince
Made answer, “three seasons ago
My sisters were star-like, but since,
Their graves have been made in the snow.”
Then the whispering flower of the fern
Said, “who will be sad at the death,
When Summer blows over the burn,
With the fierceness of fire in her breath?”
And the mouth of the flower of the sedge
Was opened to murmur and sigh,
“Sweet wind-breaths that pause at the edge
Of the nightfall, and falter, and die.”
poem by Henry Kendall
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Come Back As A Flower
The starngest thought came to me on this morning
As I awake to greet the coming dawn
The sun was hardly peaking through the garden
It felt that with everything I was one
Then I wished that I could come back as a flower
As a flower
As a flower
How I wished that I could come back as a flower
As a flower
To spread the sweetness of love
To spread the sweetness of love
The dew had finished making love to many
A rainbow smelling sweet was in the air
I envied all the silence I saw growing
So unmoved by things outside themselves
Then how I wished that I could come back as a flower
As a flower
As a flower
How I wished that I could come back as a flower
As a flower
To spread the sweetness of love
How I wished that I could come back as a flower
Oh as a flower
As a flower
How I wished that I could come back as a flower
As a flower
As a flower
To spread the sweetness of love
To spread the sweetness of love
(background)
Wished that I could come back as a flower
Flower
Flower
Wished that I could come back as a flower
Flower
Sweetness of love
How I come back as a flower
Flower
Flower
How I come back as a flower
Flower
Sweetness of love
Sweetness of love
song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Rose Arose
Of all that nature’s garden grows
the fairest flower is the Rose,
bending to each breeze that blows.
Rose beauty, joy, together sows, -
‘Tis true, as everybody knows, -
inadequately penned in prose.
For from her crown all colour flows,
her petals pink or red she shows,
with white or amber, golden glows.
‘Tis said, or so the story goes,
her spiny thorns are elf arrows
to scare the sprites from the meadows.
In slumber see her heart enclose
bee’s happiness, in sweet repose,
unsullied by harsh winter snows.
Both dark and bright, white, virgin shows, -
the rose from Paradise arose,
and on Time's wing she blows, she blows.
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A-b= Sad
Love is sad, and love is cruel.
To find it again, don't be a fool.
My flower was young,
And my flower was sweet,
When we were together,
Our passion was heat,
We traveled together, never apart,
And I knew that forever she would be in my heart,
I would look in her eyes and I would hold my breathe
To lose such a treasure would mean certain death,
This sweet little thing that I used to adore,
I never thought we would be no more.
The sun went away and it started to rain,
The joy in my heart soon turned into pain.
My little flower that I adored,
My absence was long, and she got bored
My flower has wilted from the lack of the heat,
Resentment took over, and our love was beat,
If only we planted more of those seeds,
Our garden would flourish and not the weeds.
Wilted flower don't be sad,
Another's garden is not so bad,
Always look up and never bend,
And soon you will find that your heart will mend
Love is sad, and love is cruel,
To find it again, don't be a fool.
poem by Juliet Sinclarie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pink Flowers.
Do not text me or think otherwise
I am just picking flowers from my garden.
Last evening I picked a red rose but
Wow! It proved to be too red for my date
Today I visited the same garden
The only flower I found was a white rose.
Where is my favourite pink rose?
This morning I cycled to the market
Sure, to buy my date a pink rose
But the only roses there were yellow and purple.
Tried to enquire where I could get one
But no one knows where to find.
Went to my flower vendor but nowhere to find
Where will I get my pink rose for my date?
Tomorrow, I'll travel far and wide
Only to get this precious pink flower
And if I succeed, my date will be happy
And my heart will find a solace rest
Amidst the residue of love petals
Just with the pink flower petals.
Where will I get my Pink rose flower?
(Dedicated for my pink flower date)
poem by Aron Lelei
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Prose to a Rose
Such A flower is the rose
Its colour bursting red
Such a flower if the rose
The flower of passion the poets often said
I could gaze upon its beauty
And not lift thine eyes
And when it closes its petals to go to sleep
A tear of sadness rises in my eyes
Such a flower is the rose
For it reminds me of you my dear
When ever I gaze upon a rose
It makes me wish you were here
Its petals are soft as thy skin
The colour like your lips
Its fragrance is sweet and pure
Like the flavor of your kiss
Such a flower is the rose it beauty
Has been endless through out time
And when ever I see a rose be reassured my love
You are for ever on my mind
poem by John A. Hancock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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PaSSioN FLoWeR
He was a young lad
Endless dreams she had
She was a flowered rose
She made all sacrifices to make him her spouse
For days, he was the Helios
Without him, she was in pathos
The white dress she wears
No matter how living; there are no fears
Love could un-shed all her tears…
Even on removing the white dress
It seems that the life was full of gladness
In the times before the wedding
Life was as sweets as pudding
Now the time of the vow has gone
She removes the white dress
And is forced into love’s black dress
The life seems full of stress
The gentleman removed the mask of softness and gentleness…
He was showing her his flair
But it was a built castle in the air
Passion Flower she has become
She bathes on a sad realm
She wears a heart of mourning
Passion Flower is crying
'''''From Zenith to Nadir I letdown
Just prayers and pleas I own'''''
Her eyes are in perplexity
All things developed to complexity
The white dress was forsaken leaving obscurity
And finished are the days of serenity and tranquility
What a pity! ! ! ! ! ! !
Little by little, Passion Flower has faded away
My Passion Flower is wilted and is fading away
Little by little, Passion Flower has bowed to the sadness
Little by little, Passion Flower has bent to the faintness
Her Heaven turned into haziness
Her Bliss turned into darkness
Her Dreamland turned into fogginess
Her Paradise turned into distress
For the sake of her children she is fighting
Really now, there is no more lighting…
Pretty Passion Flower
May ALLAH send you power
To pull up your thorn
Pretty Passion Flower
May ALLAH send you power
To stay nice in your cocoon
May ALLAH send you Peace
To live your life at ease
Without any male disease...
Pretty Passion Flower please keep scenting
For the sake of your Angels, Love and care try sending
Pretty Passion Flower please don’t be withered
Pretty Passion Flower you wrongfully suffered
But, ''Pretty Passion Flower please don’t be withered! ’'
From now on he is far! ! !
Free from his pain you are…
{August 20,2009}
poem by Glamorous Enigma
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Margaret
I KNOW a garden where white lilies grow,
Under the grey sweet-laden apple boughs;
It is a garden where the roses blow,
And honeysuckle covers half the house.
O happy garden, do you keep the vows
Breathed in your quiet ear beneath the rose,
Or do you tell the tale to each soft wind that blows?
Across your grassy paths she used to stray,
She moved among you like a living flower,
Her beauty drank your beauty every day,
Your beauty decked her beauty every hour.
You gave her rose and lily for a dower,
With all sweet flowers and fruits your bosom bore--
She took them all--and now she comes not any more.
O garden, if you breathe such secret things
To the south wind who loves you, tell him this:
To spread the scented softness of his wings,
And seek that other garden where she is,
And bid him bear no blossom and no kiss;
Only, dear garden, tell the wind to say
How grey the world is grown since Margaret went away!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Gardener LVII: I Plucked Your Flower
I plucked your flower, O world!
I pressed it to my heart and the
thorn pricked.
When the day waned and it
darkened, I found that the flower had
faded, but the pain remained.
More flowers will come to you with
perfume and pride, O world!
But my time for flower-gathering
is over, and through the dark night
I have not my rose, only the pain
remains.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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The Only Flower You Are
A sunbeam caress the only flower from my garden,
What a nice feeling, what a pleasure,
Than to admire the beauty of a flower,
And closing eyes to dream about it.
It's a sweet flower,
Which opened its petals,
To get the joyful morning dew,
And with its fragrance to stun me,
To bring into my heart its magic.
But the most beautiful flower,
That sit next to me,
It's you my love,
You are just a flower bud,
You are all i ever want to hold, ,
You are my dream transposed into reality,
You are my life, my joy.
poem by Cristina Teodor
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Thorn & A Wlid Rose
By d. toler, t. colton & b. waibel
He came from the streets, she came from the mountains
A faded star and an angel without wings,
Their passions flowed like a deep running river
They had nothing left to lose and everything to gain and he said
Lets make a garden said the thorn to the wild rose,
Plant some seeds deep in the ground,
Lets make a garden said the thorn to the wild rose,
Strong enough to hold us down
Seasons will change, well last forever well see the snow and the
Falling of the leaves
High on the hill with the sky all around us, well watch it grow
From two wild seeds
Lets make a garden said the thorn to the wild rose,
Plant some seeds deep in the ground,
Lets make a garden said the thorn to the wild rose,
Where its springtime all around
Solo
He came from the streets, she came from the mountains
A faded star and an angel without wings,
Their passions flowed like a deep running river
They had nothing left to lose and everything to gain and he said
Lets make a garden said the thorn to the wild rose,
Plant some seeds deep in the ground,
Lets make a garden said the thorn to the wild rose,
Where its springtime all around
Lets make a garden said the thorn to the wild rose,
Plant some seeds deep in the ground,
Lets make a garden said the thorn to the wild rose,
Where its springtime all around
song performed by by Allman Brothers Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Daisy
Where the thistle lifts a purple crown
Six foot out of the turf,
And the harebell shakes on the windy hill--
O breath of the distant surf!--
The hills look over on the South,
And southward dreams the sea;
And with the sea-breeze hand in hand
Came innocence and she.
Where 'mid the gorse the raspberry
Red for the gatherer springs;
Two children did we stray and talk
Wise, idle, childish things.
She listened with big-lipped surprise,
Breast-deep 'mid flower and spine:
Her skin was like a grape whose veins
Run snow instead of wine.
She knew not those sweet words she spake,
Nor knew her own sweet way;
But there's never a bird, so sweet a song
Thronged in whose throat all day.
Oh, there were flowers in Storrington
On the turf and on the spray;
But the sweetest flower on Sussex hills
Was the Daisy-flower that day!
Her beauty smoothed earth's furrowed face.
She gave me tokens three:--
A look, a word of her winsome mouth,
And a wild raspberry.
A berry red, a guileless look,
A still word,--strings of sand!
And yet they made my wild, wild heart
Fly down to her little hand.
For standing artless as the air,
And candid as the skies,
She took the berries with her hand,
And the love with her sweet eyes.
The fairest things have fleetest end,
Their scent survives their close:
But the rose's scent is bitterness
To him that loved the rose.
She looked a little wistfully,
Then went her sunshine way--
The sea's eye had a mist on it,
And the leaves fell from the day.
She went her unremembering way,
She went and left in me
The pang of all he partings gone,
And partings yet to be.
She left me marvelling why my soul
Was sad that she was glad;
At all the sadness in the sweet,
The sweetness in the sad.
Still, still I seemed to see her, still
Look up with soft replies,
And take the berries with her hand,
And the love with her lovely eyes.
Nothing begins, and nothing ends,
That is not paid with moan,
For we are born in other's pain,
And perish in our own.
poem by Francis Thompson
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I'll Give You A Flower, Mother
I’ll give you a flower, mother
I’ll give you a flower, dear
For life is but a garden
To children of 5 years
I’ll give you a flower, mother
I’ll give you a flower, dear
For to a bride, they’re lovely
Mother, hold your tears
I’ll give you a flower, mother
I’ll give you a flower, dear
I’ll lay it in your sweet hands
For our time has disappeared
I’ll give you a flower, mother
I’ll give you a flower, dear
When I see you there at heaven
When my time’s done here
poem by Whitney Albright
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31.Why did you do this? [Acrostic]
Wafer thin wings floting above me
Hovering about for a moment free
Yearning a flower to drink nectar sweet
Dancing in the air without any feet
It sees a flower, so swoops down to see
Discovering you, it comes to tell me
Yearning to see a flower dat can dance
Obviously i come, and go into a trance
Unknown of the thorns it has on itself got
Dropping a bit of blood, the thorn, oh I forgot!
Obliterate the wounds, i must fast
Time flies as i rush home at last
Hurriedly cover the wound and run away
Imbicile i was, forgot roads, the mind sways
Surely the flower was here, but where did it go? ? ?
One question the mind asks time and again,
It refuses to let go, however large be the pain
Why did the flower hid itself from my way?
Or did someone take it very very far away?
poem by Harshvardhan Pandit
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In The Rose Garden
RED roses bright, pink roses and white
That bud and blossom and fall;
The very sight of my heart's delight
Is more than worth them all!
Is worth far more than the whole sweet store
That ever a garden grew--
She plucked the best to die at her breast,
But it laughed and it bloomed anew!
The red rose lay at her lips to-day,
And flushed with the joy thereof;
She said a word that the white rose heard,
And the white rose paled with love.
But the west wind blows, and my lady goes,
And she leaves the world forlorn;
And every rose that the garden grows,
Might just as well be a thorn!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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