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Poems On / About ROSE  9/5/2015 5:14:01 AM
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I went to gather roses and twine them in a ring,
For I would make a posy, a posy for the King.
I got an hundred roses, the loveliest there be,
From the white rose vine and the pink rose bush and from the red
rose tree.
But when I took my posy and laid it at His feet
I found He had His roses a million times more sweet.
There was a scarlet blossom upon each foot and hand,
And a great pink rose bloomed from His side for the healing of the
Now of this fair and awful King there is this marvel told,
That He wears a crown of linked thorns instead of one of gold.
Where there are thorns are roses, and I saw a line of red,
A little wreath of roses around His radiant head.
A red rose is His Sacred Heart, a white rose is His face,
And His breath has turned the barren world to a rich and flowery
He is the Rose of Sharon, His gardener am I,
And I shall drink His fragrance in Heaven when I die.
Joyce Kilmer

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The Holy Rosary (Roses To Mother Mary)

Roses that can never fade;
Roses white and red in shade;
Roses that are heaven-made;
Roses in Mary’s crown laid!

Roses from the hearts that pray;
Roses blossoming night, day;
Roses living all the way;
Roses fit for any Fay!

Roses that will always stay;
Roses brighter than sun’s ray;
Roses everlasting, Aye!
Roses that she can’t say, ’nay’!

The spiritual best weapon,
That brings favors from her son,
That serves to solve problems mundane,
And makes souls fit for life divine!

dedicated to the 'Holy Family Church Grotto' Perundurai

Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-12-10
Dr John Celes

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The Rose Rises, Rises In The Wind

The rose rises, rises in the wind
And nurtured in its caress vies
With its peers scent to shed.

The rose rises, rises in the dawn
And in the warmth of the fast-rising sun
Erects itself in pride deservedly.

The rose rises, rises still
In its sweet surfeiting in the mid-day sun
In the honeyed laze of afternoon
In the sick beauty of the lassitude
Of the fast-coming dusk with stealthy mien

But then it bends the rose will bend
Like gleaming sheaves in acres of gold corn:
The rose will know the time to bend is come.

And without potion will it sink and slow
Into its drowsiness sub-consciously:
And sleeping feel the cool of the summer night.
Emmanuel George Cefai

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A Wayward Rose

Mischievous rose from the rose-tree swaying,
Can I not bind thee nor hold thee?
Can I not weave thee nor fold thee
In with thy sisters to staying?
Vain is my passion or praying,
Rose from the rose-tree swaying.
Wayward sweet rose from the rose-tree swinging,
Can I not pass thee, forget thee?
Can I not see to regret thee?
In—'mid thy kindred's close ringing,
Out—to my heart she comes winging,
Rose from the rose-tree swinging.
Cruel red rose from the rose-tree swaying,
Ever to worship thee, throne thee,
Never to lose thee or own thee,
Thy beauty to keep me from straying,
Thy thorns for my passionate praying,
Rose from the rose-tree swaying.
Dora Sigerson Shorter

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Poems On / About ROSE