Quotes
Quotes about Roses
Roses red and violets blew,
And all the sweetest flowres that in the forrest grew.
And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies.
O Proserpina,
For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall
From Dis's waggon! daffodils,
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty; violets dim,
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes
Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses,
That die unmarried, ere they can behold
Bright Phoebus in his strength,--a malady
Most incident to maids; bold oxlips and
The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds,
The flower-de-luce being one.
Their lips were four red roses on a stalk.
I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.
Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie.
Amid the roses fierce Repentance rears
Her snaky crest.
'T is now the summer of your youth. Time has not cropt the roses from your cheek, though sorrow long has washed them.
You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.
There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream.
As soon
Seek roses in December, ice in June;
Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff;
Believe a woman or an epitaph,
Or any other thing that's false, before
You trust in critics.
Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine,
And all save the spirit of man is divine?
I 'd be a butterfly born in a bower,
Where roses and lilies and violets meet.
She wore a wreath of roses
The first night that we met.
It is the month of June,
The month of leaves and roses,
When pleasant sights salute the eyes,
And pleasant scents the noses.
We bring roses, beautiful fresh roses,
Dewy as the morning and colored like the dawn.
Strew on her roses, roses,
And never a spray of yew!
In quiet she reposes;
Ah, would that I did too!
Though one were fair as roses
His beauty clouds and closes.
Duluth! The word fell upon my ear with a peculiar and indescribable charm, like the gentle murmur of a low fountain stealing forth in the midst of roses, or the soft sweet accent of an angel's whisper in the bright, joyous dream of sleeping innocence. 'T was the name for which my soul had panted for years, as the hart panteth for the water-brooks.
She throws a kiss, and bids me run
In whispers sweet as roses' breath;
I know I can not win the race,
And at the end, I know, is death.
There is a garden in her face,
Where roses and white lilies show;
A heavenly paradise is that place,
Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow.
There cherries hang that none may buy,
Till cherry ripe themselves do cry.
He that plants thorns must never expect to gather roses.
God gave us memories so that we might have roses in December.
You can complain because roses have thorns, or you can rejoice because thorns have roses.
God gave us memories so that we might have roses in December.
