My Pretty Rose Tree

A flower was offered to me,
Such a flower as May never bore;
But I said "I've a pretty rose tree,"
And I passed the sweet flower o'er.

Then I went to my pretty rose tree,
To tend her by day and by night;
But my rose turned away with jealousy,
And her thorns were my only delight.

William Blake

William Blake was an English poet, painter, and printmaker, who is considered one of the seminal figures in the history of poetry and visual arts of the Romantic Age. Born in London, Blake was largely unrecognized during his lifetime but is now renowned for his expressive and mystical works that blend poetic and visual art. His notable works include 'Songs of Innocence and Experience' and 'The Marriage of Heaven and Hell'. His unique creative vision and philosophical outlook have influenced numerous artists and thinkers since his death.

William Blake

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William Blake, Simple Poetry

Hear The Voice Of The Bard

William Blake, 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.

The Pretty Rose-Tree.

            Being weary of love,
            I flew to the grove,
And chose me a tree of the fairest;
            Saying, "Pretty Rose-tree,
            "Thou my mistress shall be,
    "And I'll worship each bud thou bearest.
        "For the hearts of this world are hollow,
        "And fickle the smiles we follow;
                "And 'tis sweet, when all
                "Their witcheries pall
"To have a pure love to fly to:
                "So, my pretty Rose-tree,
                "Thou my mistress shalt be,
"And the only one now I shall sigh to."

                When the beautiful hue
                Of thy cheek thro' the dew
Of morning is bashfully peeping,
                "Sweet tears," I shall say
                (As I brush them away),...

Thomas Moore

A Poison Tree

I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I watered it in fears
Night and morning with my tears,
And I sunned it with smiles
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright,
And my foe beheld it shine,
and he knew that it was mine,

And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning, glad, I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

William Blake

The Lily

The modest Rose puts forth a thorn,
The humble sheep a threat'ning horn:
While the Lily white shall in love delight,
Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.

William Blake

The Blossom

Merry, merry sparrow!
Under leaves so green
A happy blossom
Sees you, swift as arrow,
Seek your cradle narrow,
Near my bosom.
Pretty, pretty robin!
Under leaves so green
A happy blossom
Hears you sobbing, sobbing,
Pretty, pretty robin,
Near my bosom.

William Blake

The Transplanted Rose Tree.

Amid the flowers of a garden glade
    A lovely rose tree smiled,
And the sunbeams shone, the zephyrs played,
    'Round the gardens favorite child;
And the diamond dew-drops glistening fell
    On each rose's silken vest,
Whilst light winged bee and butterfly gay
    On the soft leaves loved to rest.

But one morn while a sunbeam bright
    Lit up its delicate bloom,
And a zephyr lightly hovered 'round,
    On wings of sweet perfume,
A strong hand came, and ruthlessly
    Tore up the parent tree,
And bore it off, with each fair young rose,
    From butterfly, zephyr and bee.

What mattered it that an antique vase
    Of Sèvres costly and old,
Was destined, henceforth, in royal State,
    Its fair young form to hold?
What m...

Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon

To The Rose: A Song

Go, happy Rose, and interwove
With other flowers, bind my Love.
Tell her, too, she must not be
Longer flowing, longer free,
That so oft has fetter'd me.

Say, if she's fretful, I have bands
Of pearl and gold, to bind her hands;
Tell her, if she struggle still,
I have myrtle rods at will,
For to tame, though not to kill.

Take thou my blessing thus, and go
And tell her this, but do not so!
Lest a handsome anger fly
Like a lightning from her eye,
And burn thee up, as well as I!

Robert Herrick