Thorn bleeds with my blood
pouring red into white rose
my humanity
unable to change Nature's
design - white rose remain...white.
tanka by Dónall Dempsey
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Related quotes
White rose, red
Take my white rose
White rose, red
Love everlasting
Even when dead
Kiss my white rose
White rose, red
In which love flows
In what is said
Cry on my white rose
White rose, red
Always there to be with you
And comfort you when sad
Love my white rose
White rose, red
So I may forever be with you
Loving you with the symbol
White rose...
White rose stained blood red
(Xanxus)
poem by Giotto Vongola
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White rose, red
Take my white rose
White rose, red
Love everlasting
Even when dead
Kiss my white rose
White rose, red
In which love flows
In what is said
Cry on my white rose
White rose, red
Always there to be with you
Always there to be with you sad
Love my white rose
White rose, red
So I may forever be with you
So I may forever dream with you
So I may forever love with you
All in the symbol
White rose....White rose stained red
poem by Trey Mitchell
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White Rose And Red
WHITE rose sighed in the morn,
Red rose laughed in the noon,
And 'Sweetest sweetness is ended soon,'
And 'Never heed for the thorn.'
'Love's hour passes away,'
White rose breathed in my ear;
Red rose whispered 'No need to fear;
The day is enough for day.'
Shall I heed white or red?
Shall I heed both aright?
Sighing and laughing, red and white,
'Tis 'Love her' they both have said.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Pink confused a white rose red
Pink confused a red rose white
Dipping sun sets day to night.
Guileless dawn joins light with dark;
Hateless, awe-filled, works of art.
Nature paints each their skin;
Not a choice, nought to win.
No thorn pricked, no blood bled,
pink infused a white rose red.
poem by Sailing to windward
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Unforgiving Love
one day a blue bird fell in love with a white rose..the rose was envious of everybod falling in love and was afraid that she will get hurt..the blue bird told her that he had loved her from afar but was too scared to tell the white rose how much he actaully did...the white rose told the bird when my petals turn from white to red i will fall in love with you back....the blue bird came by and by everyday and told the white rose how much he loved her...until one day the blue bird cut his wings and soaked the white rose with his blood...the white rose's petals turned from white to a luscious red and she realized how much the blue bird loved her..but it was too late the blue bird fell in front of the rose and the rose was red forever..that's why roses are giving to the ones we loved
poem by Ariff Khan
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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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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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A White Rose
THE red rose whispers of passion,
And the white rose breathes of love;
O, the red rose is a falcon,
And the white rose is a dove.
But I send you a cream-white rosebud
With a flush on its petal tips;
For the love that is purest and sweetest
Has a kiss of desire on the lips
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Simple Beauty
Alone in the storm
stands a white rose
chaotic waves
of destruction around her
tall is the white rose
strong in the face
sensed doom all around her
she'll never back down
the white rose pure
in the confused earth
growing eternal strength
I see not the white rose
she is so far away
surrounded by a compound
of specific elements
each raindrop, a tear
dwindling down the untainted stem
currents of jealousy
attempt to overthrow
an enormous gust
beginning to wilt
fear not
little white rose
rainfall decreases
everything lives
only to die.
it's nothing to dread
be strong little flower
your heart will guide true
following an angel
Always and forever
poem by Shayna Butcher
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Little White Rose
Little white rose that I loved, I loved,
Roisin ban, Roisin ban!
Fair my bud as the morning's dawn.
I kissed my beautiful flower to bloom,
My heart grew glad for its rich perfume—
Little white rose that I loved!
Little white rose that I loved grew red,
Roisin rua, Roisin rua!
Passionate tears I wept for you.
Love is more sweet than the world's fame—
I dream you back in my heart the same,
Little white rose that I loved!
Little white rose that I loved grew black,
Roisin duv, Roisin duv!
So I knew not the heart of you.
Lost in the world's alluring fire,
I cry in the night for my heart's desire,
Little white rose that I loved!
poem by Dora Sigerson Shorter
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A White House
There is an old abandoned house.
I planted a white rose in it's precious soil.
Clouds begin to rain calmly on the peaceful rose.
Its sparkling roots and stems slowly cover the house.
I returned the next day only to see the white rose turn the house into a big, beautifully white rose.
poem by Roshaun Beasley
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A Dove
The red rose whispers of passion,
And the white rose whispers of love;
O, the red rose is a falcon,
And the white rose is a dove.
But I send you this cream-white rosebud,
With a flush on it's pedal tips;
For the love that is purest and the seetest,
Has a kiss of desire on its lips.
poem by Kayla Danielle
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The white rose and the red rose
The white rose and the red rose,
So sisters two were named, yes, named.
The white one was so quiet,
The red one laughed and flamed.
But different was their doing, yes,
When came the time of wooing, yes.
The white one turned so red, so red,
The red one turned so white.
For him the red one favored,
Him father would not bless, not bless.
But him the white one favored,
He got at once his 'Yes.'
The red one now was paling, yes,
With sorrow, psalms, and wailing, yes.
The white one turned so red, so red,
The red one turned so white.
Then father grew so fearful
And had to give his 'Yes,' oh, yes!
With songs and music cheerful
The wedding rang, oh, yes!
And soon sprang children rosen, yes,
In shoes and little hosen, yes.
The red one's, they were white,-and oh,
The white one's, they were red.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Milk White, Blood-Red
Gently as wind blows
Sways the beauty of the Milk White rose
Day and night that rose stays
Its beauty drawing people closer
Its thorns keeping them away
The rose stays here
As seasons pass it by
The petals have worn
As the wind made it fly
A single rose seed
Falls onto the ground
And the Milk White rose
Now dead
Gave birth safe and sound
To a rose of Blood Red
poem by Monina Furigay
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Chanson
A RING of gold and a milk-white dove
Are goodly gifts for thee,
And a hempen rope for your own love
To hang upon a tree.
For you a House of Ivory
(Roses are white in the rose-bower)!
A narrow bed for me to lie
(White, O white, is the hemlock flower)!
Myrtle and jessamine for you
(O the red rose is fair to see)!
For me the cypress and the rue
(Fairest of all is rose-mary)!
For you three lovers of your hand
(Green grass where a man lies dead)!
For me three paces on the sand
(Plant lilies at my head)!
poem by Oscar Wilde
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I'm Dyeing a White Rose Black
I’m dyeing a white rose black.
Such a pretty, perfect flower it was.
Too perfect compared to me.
I’m dyeing a white rose black.
But my fingers and eyes and heart are stained,
And yet, nobody will see.
I’m dyeing a white rose black.
Nothing could ever reverse such a crime.
A black rose this rose will be.
poem by Mary Cieslak
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Grasp Pluck A Flower
If my hand
were to reach out
grasp pluck a flower
to symbolize
a life concept,
what flower
would it be?
Be it possible
token taken
would achieve
immortality?
What value
the token?
What matter
the choice?
To be immortalized
dramatically in a play
the choice of a flower
scene in a churchyard!
Really, image an apocryphal
scene in the Temple Garden?
What flower do you choose?
With a life's struggle bursting
out from between the two lines,
English blood will slay English blood
in a series of deadly dynastic civil wars
fought in several, spasmodic battles
for a prize, for the throne of England.
How choose you? What say you now?
Be it the white rose? Be it the red rose?
Be ye for the White Rose of York?
Be ye for the Red Rose of Lancaster?
Your decision bore thirty years of war
for the pick of different coloured roses;
at the Temple Church, the banner of a
white boar, or red dragon to die under.
Was the choice of a rose of importance;
after the last battle was won? Henry VII
will combine the white and red roses; into
single red and white Tudor Rose; to found
the House of Tudor; to rule England and Wales;
for 117 years; to end these; Wars Of The Roses.
In beautiful images of nature,
framed also in cultural images,
so much may be achieved, in golden years,
saved, from wise lesson values of the past.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Blue
Blue, but you are Rose, too,
and buttermilk, but with blood
dots showing through.
A little salty your white
nape boy-wide.Glinting hairs
shoot back of your ears' Rose
that tongues like to feel
the maze of, slip into the funnel,
tell a thunder-whisper to.
When I kiss, your eyes' straight
lashes down crisp go like doll's
blond straws.Glazed iris Roses,
your lids unclose to Blue-ringed
targets, their dark sheen-spokes
almost green.I sink in Blue-
black Rose-heart holes until you
blink.Pink lips, the serrate
folds taste smooth, and Rosehip-
round, the center bud I suck.
I milknip your two Blue-skeined
blown Rose beauties, too, to sniff
their berries' blood, up stiff
pink tips.You're white in
patches, only mostly Rose,
buckskin and saltly, speckled
like a sky.I love your spots,
your white neck, Rose, your hair's
wild straw splash, silk spools
for your ears.But where white
spouts out, spills on your brow
to clear eyepools, wheel shafts
of light, Rose, you are Blue.
poem by May Swenson
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Under The Ivy
It wouldn't take me long
To tell you how to find it
To tell you where we'll meet
This little girl inside me
Is retreating to her favourite place
Go into the garden, go under the ivy
Under the leaves, away from the party
Go right to the rose
Go right to the white rose
I sit here in the thunder
The green on the gray
I feel it all around me
And it's not easy for me
To give away a secret
It's not safe
To go into the garden, go under the ivy
Under the leaves, away from the party
Go right to the rose
Go right to the white rose
Go into the garden, go under the ivy
Go under the leaves with me
Go right to the rose
Go right to the white rose
I'll be waiting for you
It wouldn't take me long
To tell you how to find it
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stanzas In Meditation: Stanza XIII
There may be pink with white or white with rose
Or there may be white with rose and pink with mauve
Or even there may be white with yellow and yellow with blue
Or even if even it is rose with white and blue
And so there is no yellow there but by accident.
poem by Gertrude Stein
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