Top 41 Rose Poetry Quotes
#1. The first rose on my rose-tree
Budded, bloomed, and shattered,
During sad days when to me
Nothing mattered.
Grief of grief has drained me clean;
Still it seems a pity
No one saw, - it must have been
Very pretty.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
#2. Every rose has poetry in her heart and is eager to tell you when you are in love.
Debasish Mridha
#3. With its leaves so rich and heavy with elation and its crimson face made brighter with visions of divinity the shadow of a certain rose looks just like an angel eating light.
Aberjhani
#4. ...passions, poetry and the ego have been seen as perpetual explosions? But if that's true, then so its its opposite; ever since that August when athe mushroom rose over cities reduced to a layer of ash, an age was born in which the explosion is symbolic only of absolute negation.
Italo Calvino
#5. Another power I don't have," said Lissa ruefully.
I grinned. "Hey, I have yet to meet any spirit user who can throw a punch like you can. That was poetry in motion, Liss." She groaned.
Richelle Mead
#6. To feel keenly the poetry of a morning's roses, one has to have just escaped from the claws of this vulture which we call sickness.
Henri Frederic Amiel
#7. through the rose glass window in their beautiful new home, you stare at the love you gave away.
AVA.
#8. Are you going to talk about boys?" Sarah laughed. "What boys?" "Any boys." "No. We're talking about what we want for Christmas." "I want a dog," said Rose, hurrying to Abby's side. "A sister," said Sarah. "Poetry books," said Abby. "You just want poetry books because Zander likes poetry," said Rose.
Ann M. Martin
#9. When the rose's flash to the sunset
Reels to the wrack and the twist,
And the rose is a red bygone,
When the face I love is going
And the gate to the end shall clang,
And it's no use to beckon or say, "So long"
Maybe I'll tell you then
some other time.
Carl Sandburg
#10. No. Not really red,
but the color of a rose when it bleeds.
Anne Sexton
#11. Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying.
Robert Herrick
#12. I always find time to read novels and poetry as well as scripts; I like to enjoy different kinds of storytelling. I spend time at the beach and with my loved ones. I like traveling to unfamiliar places to challenge my perspectives and glean wisdom from other ways of life.
Rose McIver
#13. And the Spring arose on the garden fair,
Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere;
And each flower and herb on Earth's dark breast
Rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
#14. If I say your voice is an amber waterfall in which I yearn to burn each day, if you eat my mouth like a mystical rose with powers of healing and damnation, If I confess that your body is the only civilization I long to experience ... would it mean that we are close to knowing something about love?
Aberjhani
#16. A song rises up from the belly of my past
and rocks me in the bosom of buried memories.
Brenda Sutton Rose
#17. As I string, a swift rhythm is played out with my hands, a cadence known only to those who have strung tobacco. To many of the poor workers, the meter and rhythm of stringing tobacco is the only poetry they've ever known.
Brenda Sutton Rose
#18. With red clay between my toes,
and the sun setting over my head,
the ghost of my mother blows in,
riding on a honeysuckle breeze, oh lord,
riding on a honeysuckle breeze.
Brenda Sutton Rose
#19. Ah, Lalage! while life is ours,
Hoard not thy beauty rose and white,
But pluck the pretty fleeing flowers
That deck our little path of light:
For all too soon we twain shall tread
The bitter pastures of the dead:
Estranged, sad spectres of the night.
Ernest Dowson
#20. With Rue My Heart Is Laden
With rue my heart is laden
For golden friends I had,
For many a rose-lipt maiden
And many a lightfoot lad.
By brooks too broad for leaping
The lightfoot boys are laid;
The rose-lipt girls are sleeping
In fields where roses fade.
A.E. Housman
#21. What is one man's hate speech is another man's poetry.
Flemming Rose
#22. She cries,
I laugh,
She becomes numb,
I become filled with joy,
She slowly crumbles,
I feel on top of the world,
Yet somehow in the end,
Out of the ashes,
She rose like a Phoenix,
As if nothing had ever touched her
Tanzy Sayadi
#23. When I said.
A rose is a rose is a rose.
And then later made that into a ring I made poetry and what
did I do I caressed completely caressed and addressed
a noun.
Gertrude Stein
#24. Songs. Books. Poetry. Paintings. These things reveal truth. I believe lies and truth are tangled together.
Brenda Sutton Rose
#25. The flower bloomed and faded. The sun rose and sank. The lover loved and went. And what the poets said in rhyme, the young translated into practice.
Virginia Woolf
#26. Life. This morning the sun made me adore it. It had, behind the dripping pine trees, the oriental brightness, orange and crimson, of a living being, a rose and an apple, in the physical and ideal fusion of a true and daily paradise.
Juan Ramon Jimenez
#27. when i speak to you
i speak as though
i am offering a rose
in your hand.
Sanober Khan
#28. The changes that have occurred in poetry have been minor when you look at it over the scale of human time. It's like a rose, maybe a hybrid with color and size differentials, but the same genus, plucked from the same original blowsy family.
Dorianne Laux
#29. Random thoughts that fly away.
Where words has no place to stay.
Let it be right where they are.
Let the work of art preserve its life.
Diana Rose Morcilla
#30. There is darkness in light, there is pain in joy, and there are thorns on the rose.
Cate Tiernan
#31. you were
and always will be
that first ever touch
to have fertilized
the ground
beneath my life's trees
that first ever rose
to have fragranced
the rest of my memories.
Sanober Khan
#32. Publishing a book of poetry is like dropping a rose petal down the Grand Canyon and waiting for the echo.
Don Marquis
#33. My love is like the red red rose
That's newly sprung in June
O my love's like the melody
That's newly played in tune
Robert Burns
#35. Coldness settles again in my stomach. I do not want a nice Hmong girl. I want a nice Egyptian boy who teaches me about colors and makes me appreciate poetry. I want the nice Egyptian boy who stops in the middle of the day to say Thank you, God. For everything.
Rose Christo
#36. In every garden grows one single rose so perfect that once the frost takes it, no other can grow there again. My rose is and will ever be my Edilyn. And I shall never stop mourning her. Illarion's Tattoo
Sherrilyn Kenyon
#37. 'We're not ... we haven't been writing poetry and sprinkling rose petals and tripping hand in hand under rainbows, Kay.'
'Just because you have Y chromosomes doesn't mean you can't tell each other how you feel, Dylan. Your penises won't fall off if you do.'
Kim Fielding
#38. He [Mihaly Babits] hoped that some god might offer a bed to the river of words which rose to his lips, so that it might flow between ordered banks to the sea, there to vanish.
Claudio Magris
#39. One day when I ventured into the garden to regard its bloom,
My eyes beheld on a bower a withered rose.
When I inquired what had caused the blight,
"My lips for a moment opened in a smile in this garden," it replied.
Musharraf Ali Farooqi
#40. O deaf and mute
and blind and beautiful and interminable rose
who into time, attar and verse transmute
Cecilia Meireles
#41. September 11, 2001: Citizens of the U.S., besieged by terror's sting,
rose up, weeping glory, as if on eagles' wings.
from the poem Angel of Remembrance: Candles for September 11, 2001
Aberjhani
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