The Rose and the Tall Dark Tree

Once bloomed a rose so young and fair

With dark brown eyes and long black hair



Beside her be a tall dark tree

Whose branches stretch to smother thee



Too close beside the shadowy bark

That soon begins to leave its mark



She cries for help, but none shall hear

Her thorns too sharp, who’d dare go near?



To save this rose, who’d risk their life?

With naught to gain but pain and strife



Alone, afraid, she lays to rest

Her heart beats low inside her chest



And with the hour growing near

She sheds her final grieving tear



And so the rose soon falls asunder

Her final day, eternal slumber



She lies beside the old dark tree

The only one who mourns for thee.



                             Nina Hernandez, 2010

A Little Budding Rose

Powerhouse - a MiniFlora Rose

It was a little budding rose,

Round like a fairy globe,

And shyly did its leaves unclose

Hid in their mossy robe,

But sweet was the slight and spicy smell

It breathed from its heart invisible.



The rose is blasted, withered, blighted,

Its root has felt a worm,

And like a heart beloved and slighted,

Failed, faded, shrunk its form.

Bud of beauty, bonnie flower,

I stole thee from thy natal bower.



I was the worm that withered thee,

Thy tears of dew all fell for me;

Leaf and stalk and rose are gone,

Exile earth they died upon,

Yes, that last breath of balmy scent

With alien breezes sadly blent!

                                                Emily Bronte

                                                1818-1848

The Rose of the World

Let Freedom Ring

Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?

For these red lips, with all their mournful pride,

Mournful that no new wonder may betide,

Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam,

And Usna’s children died.

We and labouring world are passing by:

Amid men’s souls, that waver and give place

Like the pale waters in their wintry race,

Under the passing stars, foam of the sky,

Lives on this lonely face.

Bow down, archangels, in your dim abode:

Before you were, or any hearts to beat,

Weary and kind one lingered by His seat;

He made the world to be a grassy road

Before her wondering feet.

                             

                                   William Butler Yates 1865-1939

 

The Rose has a Powerful Virtue

The Rose has one powerful virtue to boast above all the flowers of the field:

When its leaves are all dead, and fine colours are lost,

Still how sweet a perfume it will yield.

                                      By Isaac Watts

                                      English theologian and hymn writer

                                      (1674-1748)