12 Rose Poems
The rose - one of the most beautiful flowers. Be inspired by our collection of rose poems. A rose is a thing of beauty and the verses here reflect that. Roses are often associated with love. And the colors of the rose often represent different meanings.
We hope you find a rose poem that expresses your thoughts or gives you
words to consider.
Short Poems / Garden Poems
/ Rose Poem
A White Rose
Poet: John Boyle O'Reilly
The red rose whispers of passion,
And the white rose breathes of love;
Oh, 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.
With A Rose
Poet: Charles Henry Webb
Lady, lest they should betray,
On thy lips this rose I lay.
Not its petals to surprise
With a hue that theirs outvies.
Not to shame them to confess
Fragrance of the Rose is less -
Only with a rose to seal
Rosebud lips, lest they reveal -
Faint unfolding, in their sleep -
What a rose's heart should keep.
Eden since, no wizard knows
Spell that bindeth like the rose -
Flower of Love, the last to leave,
Bud that blossomed first for Eve.
With my rose for lock and key
None shall pick thy lips, pardie!
But to me if they unclose -
All is safe beneath the rose.
Nobody Knows This Little Rose
Poet: Emily Dickinson
Nobody knows this little Rose -
It might a pilgrim be
Did I not take it from the ways
And lift it up to thee.
Only a Bee will miss it -
Only a Butterfly,
Hastening from far journey -
On its breast to lie -
Only a Bird will wonder -
Only a Breeze will sigh -
Ah Little Rose - how easy
For such as thee to die!
My Pretty Rose Tree
Famous Poem by William Blake
A flower was offered to me;
Such a flower as May never bore.
But I said I've a Pretty Rose-tree.
And I passed the sweet flower o'er.
Then I went to my Pretty Rose-tree:
To tend her by day and by night.
But my Rose turn'd away with jealousy:
And her thorns were my only delight.
Poet: Hilda Doolittle
You are clear
O rose, cut in rock,
hard as the descent of hail.
I could scrape the colour
from the petals
like spilt dye from a rock.
If I could break you
I could break a tree.
If I could stir
I could break a tree -
I could break you.
O wind, rend open the heat,
cut apart the heat,
rend it to tatters.
Fruit cannot drop
through this thick air -
fruit cannot fall into heat
that presses up and blunts
the points of pears
and rounds the grapes.
Cut the heat -
plough through it,
turning it on either side
of your path.
The Rose Family
A Famous Poem by Robert Frost
The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But the theory now goes
That the apple's a rose,
And the pear is, and so's
The plum, I suppose.
The dear only know
What will next prove a rose.
You, of course, are a rose -
But were always a rose.
Roses, I See The Sweetest Roses
Poet: Richard Henry Stoddard
Roses, I see the sweetest roses,
As in the cool kiosk I pass.
Tied in a thousand fragrant posies.
And fastened to the roof with grass.
What has bewitched the grass I wonder?
It is the humblest weed that grows;
How comes it that it sits up yonder,
And on a level with the rose?
"Silence! " The grass said, and in sadness
Let fall its tears in pearls of dew;
"The generous man robs none of gladness.
And never scorns old friends for new.
I am no rose among the roses,
And yet there's not a child but knows
That the poor grass that tied these posies
Is from the Garden of the rose!"
Poet: Dora Read Goodale
I chanced upon a rose the other day,
A pale and faded flower, forgotten long.
And with it these unfinished verses lay,
The faltering echo of a deeper song: —
A perfect day in June, — the golden sun
Looks down upon the green and tangled way;
The summer song and silence are as one, —
The light and longing of a Summer's day!
O untaught harmony of Summer days!
The distant tinkle of a waterfall,
The blue blue sky that deepens as you gaze.
The wayward rose that blossoms by the wall!
Unspoiled and sweet in every country lane,
All dewy cool in maiden pink she blooms,
Still green and fragrant thro' the Summer rain,
When freer airs are thrilled with light perfumes.
She blossoms close beside the dusty way.
Her heart the careless passer-by may see, —
Sweet is her fragrance thro' the burning day,
But sweeter is her open secrecy!
Though he who will may pierce her leafy green,
Where sits the brooding robin on its nest,
The secret of her life is all unseen.
Unknown the impulse of her sweet unrest.
All day the winds about her cool the air.
Faint sounds the tinkle of the waterfall, —
What is the sudden answer you may bear,
O wayward rose, that blossoms by the wall?
Poet: Sir Walter Scott
"The rose is fairest when 'tis budding new,
And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears;
The rose is sweetest wash'd with morning dew,
And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears.
O wildling rose, whom fancy thus endears,
I bid your blossoms in my bonnet wave,
Emblem of hope and love through future years!"
Thus spoke young Norman, heir of Armandave,
What time the sun arose on Venachar's broad wave.
A Lesson From The Rose Bush
Poet: Howard Carleton Tripp
Beside a limpid stream a rose bush grew;
Its blossoms filled the air with rich perfume,
Upon it fell the summer's sun and dew,
The autumn gales swept roughly o'er its tomb.
Such are the scenes of life, — in childhood's hours
Hope comes to still the cares within the breast,
And like the rose bush with its flagrant flowers
Old age comes on and we are laid to rest.
The rose bush can this lesson well unfold:
Strive to excel in being good and wise.
Oh, learn it, children, ere thy lives are old!
Neath its foundation all thy glory lies.
To A Friend Who Sent Me Some Roses
As late I rambled in the happy fields,
What time the skylark shakes the tremulous dew
From his lush clover covert; when anew
Adventurous knights take up their dinted shields:
I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields,
A fresh-blown musk-rose, 'twas the first that threw
Its sweets upon the summer: graceful it grew
As in the wand that Queen Titania wields.
And as I feasted on its fragrancy,
I thought the garden-rose it far excelled:
But when, O Wells! thy roses came to me
My sense with their deliciousness was spelled:
Soft voices had they, that with tender plea
Whispered of peace, and truth, and friendliness unquelled.
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