Thank you for the beautiful roses.
I really love this thread.

Vicky

I still love this thread.
It probably is my favourite of them all, and so is the rose ,queen of the flowers.

Sue

Flames of passion
reach out to the sun,
in total devotion
to the source of life.
Blushing in delight.


Love, Margherita

What beautiful roses. Thank you Margherita and Lilie, for all the additional exquisite roses; and so appropriate to add the' Peace Rose' , in these uncertain times when Peace is what we need the most.

Love, Inda

I am so fascinated by this winter rose, also by its symbolic meaning.

Doesn't it fit magnificently into this thread of roses?



haiku by Margherita:


Break through your sadness

like a winter rose through snow

feel the sun's warm touch!


My warmest Sunday wishes!

Love,
Margherita

quote:

haiku by Margherita:


Break through your sadness

like a winter rose through snow

feel the sun's warm touch!

Thank you Margherita.
Your messages unfold with beauty, like the petals of a rose.

Winter has finally left us, and spring will awaken the new rose, leaving behind the beautiful rose of the winter.

Love, Inda

Thank you Margherita fir bringing back this post. It is one of my favourite threads. I love the image of the winter rose; it is pure beauty.

Here is another one, but it is awaiting the summer sun.

Love,
Sue

Thank you Margherita for bringing back this very beautiful topic of roses. I love your image of the winter rose.
Winter is over, but we still remember the snow covered rose.

Winter’s Rose

When heaven exhales its first icy kiss,
Upon the old sod where beneath he rests,
An ashen hand leaves a winter's rose
When heaven exhales its first icy kiss.

Upon his cold bed in mournful repose
At dawn the blade pierces her sallow breast,
When heaven exhales its first icy kiss
Upon the old sod where beneath he rests.

Upon his cold bed in mournful repose,
One final dream wooed with a lover's bliss,
To wake with the ghost of summer’s caress
Upon his cold bed in mournful repose.

A rose to her heart that heaven might bless,
Palm to smooth ivory, a tightened fist.
Upon his cold bed in mournful repose,
At dawn the blade pierces her sallow breast.

A rose to her heart that heaven might bless.
That, and the dream of a soldiers's last kiss.
Sorrow born bitter from naught she had chose,
A rose to her heart that heaven might bless.

Sorrow born bitter from naught she had chose,
Sounding a cry o'er the twilight myst,
A rose to her heart that heaven might bless,
Palm to smooth ivory, a tightened fist.



jeanne rene 8/04

http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewpoetry.asp?AuthorID=18788&id=119286

Our weather has become very hot and the roses are starting to bloom again.

Love,
Vicky

"Oh, my luve’s like a red, red rose, That ’s newly sprung in June; Oh, my luve’s like the melodie That’s sweetly played in tune." - Robert Burns

You are right Vicky,
the roses are beginning to bloom in my garden.

You are responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose.

Antoine de Saint-Exupery

It rained last night and this morning the roses were covered in droplets. They looked very fragile and beautiful.

Love,
Vicky

George Eliot

You love the roses - so do I.
I wish the sky would rain down roses, as they rain
From off the shaken bushes,
Why will it not?
Then all the valley would be pink and white
And soft to tread on. They would fall as light
As feathers, smelling sweet and it would be
Like sleeping and yet waking all at once.

Thank you Vicky and Sue for bringing back this post.
My roses are also starting to bloom.



Come, come
the Beloved has arrived!
The rosegarden is blooming.
Run and offer your life and the world
to the rising Sun.

Rumi

This beautiful rose is blooming
in my own garden.

Love, Inda



Go not too near a House of Rose -- by Emily Dickinson

Go not too near a House of Rose --
The depredation of a Breeze --
Or inundation of a Dew
Alarms its walls away --

Nor try to tie the Butterfly,
Nor climb the Bars of Ecstasy,
In insecurity to lie
Is Joy's insuring quality.

...The year of the rose is brief;
From the first blade blown to the sheaf,
From the thin green leaf to the gold,
It has time to be sweet and grow old,
To triumph and leave not a leaf
For witness in winter's sight
How lovers once in the light
Would mix their breath with its breath,
And its spirit was quenched not of night,
As love is subdued not of death...

From: The Year of the Rose by Algernon Charles Swinburne



I am waiting for these to open.
They sparkle and light up like the sun.

Ernest Quost



The Rose Tree


'O words are lightly spoken,'
Said Pearse to Connolly,
'Maybe a breath of politic words
Has withered our Rose Tree;
Or maybe but a wind that blows
Across the bitter sea.'

'It needs to be but watered,'
James Connolly replied,
'To make the green come out again
And spread on every side,
And shake the blossom from the bud
To be the garden's pride.'

'But where can we draw water,'
Said Pearse to Connolly,
'When all the wells are parched away?
O plain as plain can be
There's nothing but our own red blood
Can make a right Rose Tree.'

by William Butler Yeats

I love to cut roses and put them into my room.
It always brightens up the surroundings.



Marcel Schurman

Time of Roses by Thomas Hood

It was not in the Winter
Our loving lot was cast;
It was the time of roses—
We pluck'd them as we pass'd!

That churlish season never frown'd
On early lovers yet:
O no—the world was newly crown'd
With flowers when first we met!

'Twas twilight, and I bade you go,
But still you held me fast;
It was the time of roses—
We pluck'd them as we pass'd!


Renoir

Roses
A sea of broom was on the brae,
A heaven of speedwell lit the way;
But ever as I passed along
Of roses only was my song -
Roses, roses, roses!
They spread their petals, pink and white
Full stretch to feast upon the light;
They pushed each other on the spray
Like children mad with holiday -
Roses, roses, roses!

But as when summer noon is high
A fearful cloud bedims the sky,
A sudden memory of pain
Arises from the bright refrain -
Roses, roses, roses!

I watch a figure to and fro
'Mong summer roses long ago,
Herself a rose as blythe as they -
Alas! how soon they pass away -
Roses, roses, roses!

Walter Wingate