For A Present Of Roses

Crimson and cream and white--
    My room is a garden of roses!
Centre and left and right,
    Three several splendid posies.

As the sender is, they are sweet,
    These lovely gifts of your sending,
With the stifling summer heat
    Their delicate fragrance blending.

What more can my heart desire?
    Has it lost the power to be grateful?
Is it only a burnt-out fire,
    Whose ashes are dull and hateful?

Yet still to itself it doth say,
    'I should have loved far better
To have found, coming in to-day,
    The merest scrap of a letter.'

Robert Fuller Murray

Robert Fuller Murray was a Scottish poet known for his lyrical and expressive poetry. Born on December 26, 1863, in Roxbury, Massachusetts, he moved to Scotland at a young age. Despite a short life, ending on April 15, 1894, Murray left a significant mark with his works, which often reflected themes of nature and human emotion. His poetry is characterized by its elegance and depth of feeling. Murray's influence remained through posthumous publications and collections of his poetry.

Robert Fuller Murray

Greek Title

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

Poets

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

A Summer Morning

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

The Waster Singing At Midnight. After Longfellow

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

To ----

Welcome, dear Heart, and a most kind good-morrow;
The day is gloomy, but our looks shall shine: -
Flowers I have none to give thee, but I borrow
Their sweetness in a verse to speak for thine.

Here are red roses, gather'd at thy cheeks, -
The white were all too happy to look white:
For love the rose, for faith the lily speaks;
It withers in false hands, but here 'tis bright!

Dost love sweet Hyacinth? Its scented leaf
Curls manifold, - all love's delights blow double:
'Tis said this flow'ret is inscribed with grief, -
But let that hint of a forgotten trouble.

I pluck'd the Primrose at night's dewy noon;
Like Hope, it show'd its blossoms in the night; -
'Twas, like Endymion, watching for the Moon!
And here are Sun-flowers, amorous of light!

Thomas Hood

Lines on Receiving a Bunch of Wild Hyacinths by Post.

Sweet, drooping, azure tinted bells,
How dear you are;
Bringing the scent of shady dells,
To me from far;
Telling of spring and gladsome sunny hours, -
Nature's bright jewels!=-heart-refreshing flowers!

Oh, for a stroll when opening day
Silvers the dew,
Kissing the buds, whilst zephyrs play
As though they knew
Their gentle breath was needed, just to shake
Your slumbering beauties, and to bid you wake.

Far from the moilding town and trade,
How sweet to spend
An hour amid the misty glade,
And find a friend
In every tiny blossom, and to lie,
And dream of Him whose love can never die.

Ye are Gael's messengers, sent here
To make us glad;
Mute, and yet eloquent, to cheer
The heart that's sad;
To turn our thoughts from ...

John Hartley

Women And Roses

I.
I dream of a red-rose tree.
And which of its roses three
Is the dearest rose to me?

II.
Round and round, like a dance of snow
In a dazzling drift, as its guardians, go
Floating the women faded for ages,
Sculptured in stone, on the poets pages.
Then follow women fresh and gay,
Living and loving and loved to-day.
Last, in the rear, flee the multitude of maidens,
Beauties yet unborn. And all, to one cadence,
They circle their rose on my rose tree.

III.
Dear rose, thy term is reached,
Thy leaf hangs loose and bleached:
Bees pass it unimpeached.

IV.
Stay then, stoop, since I cannot climb,
You, great shapes of the antique time!
How shall I fix you, fire you, freeze you,
Break my heart at your feet to please you?

Robert Browning

In my Garden of Roses.

Oh! Come to me, darling! My Sweet!
Here where the sunlight reposes;
Pink petals lie thick at my feet,
Here in my garden of rose's.

Oh! come to my bower! My Queen!
Sweet with the breath of the flow'rs;
Shaded with curtains of green; -
Here let us dream through the hours.

The sky is unfleck'd overhead, -
Trees languish in Sol's fervid ray, -
The earth to the heavens is wed,
And robin is piping his lay.

Lost is their sweetness upon me;
Vainly their beauties displaying; -
Cheerless I wander, and lonely, -
Hoping and longing and praying.

Oh! come to me, Queenliest flower!
Reign in my garden of roses;
Humbly we bow to thy power,
Loving the sway thou imposes.

Hark! 'Tis her tinkling footfall!
Robin desist from th...

John Hartley

Asking for Roses

A house that lacks, seemingly, mistress and master,
With doors that none but the wind ever closes,
Its floor all littered with glass and with plaster;
It stands in a garden of old-fashioned roses.

I pass by that way in the gloaming with Mary;
'I wonder,' I say, 'who the owner of those is.'
'Oh, no one you know,' she answers me airy,
'But one we must ask if we want any roses.'

So we must join hands in the dew coming coldly
There in the hush of the wood that reposes,
And turn and go up to the open door boldly,
And knock to the echoes as beggars for roses.

'Pray, are you within there, Mistress Who-were-you?'
'Tis Mary that speaks and our errand discloses.
'Pray, are you within there? Bestir you, bestir you!
'Tis summer again; there's two come for ros...

Robert Lee Frost

Love's Emblem

Go rose, my Chloe's bosom grace:
How happy should I prove,
Could I supply that envied place
With never-fading love.

Accept, dear maid, now Summer glows,
This pure, unsullied gem,
Love's emblem in a full-blown rose,
Just broken from the stem.

Accept it as a favourite flower
For thy soft breast to wear;
'Twill blossom there its transient hour,
A favourite of the fair.

Upon thy cheek its blossom glows,
As from a mirror clear,
Making thyself a living rose,
In blossom all the year.

It is a sweet and favourite flower
To grace a maiden's brow,
Emblem of love without its power--
A sweeter rose art thou.

The rose, like hues of insect wing,
May perish in an hour;
'T is but at best a fading thing,
But thou'...

John Clare