To - - , with a Rose.

I asked my heart to say
Some word whose worth my love's devoir might pay
Upon my Lady's natal day.

Then said my heart to me:
`Learn from the rhyme that now shall come to thee
What fits thy Love most lovingly.'

This gift that learning shows;
For, as a rhyme unto its rhyme-twin goes,
I send a rose unto a Rose.


Philadelphia, 1876.

Sidney Lanier

Sidney Lanier, born February 3, 1842, in Macon, Georgia, was an American musician, poet, and author. He was known for his musical and poetic works that embodied the natural beauty and culture of the American South. Lanier fought in the American Civil War, an experience that deeply influenced his later works. He is celebrated for his technical mastery and innovative use of meter and musicality in poetry. Lanier passed away on September 7, 1881, in Lynn, North Carolina.

Sidney Lanier

Ireland.

Sidney Lanier, Simple Poetry

In Absence.

Sidney Lanier, Simple Poetry

To Richard Wagner.

Sidney Lanier, Simple Poetry

An Evening Song.

Sidney Lanier, 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.

Rose-Morals.

I. - Red.

Would that my songs might be
What roses make by day and night -
Distillments of my clod of misery
Into delight.

Soul, could'st thou bare thy breast
As yon red rose, and dare the day,
All clean, and large, and calm with velvet rest?
Say yea - say yea!

Ah, dear my Rose, good-bye;
The wind is up; so; drift away.
That songs from me as leaves from thee may fly,
I strive, I pray.


II. - White.

Soul, get thee to the heart
Of yonder tuberose: hide thee there -
There breathe the meditations of thine art
Suffused with prayer.

Of spirit grave yet light,
How fervent fragrances uprise
Pure-born from these most rich and yet most white
Virginities!

Mulched with unsavory death,
Grow, S...

Sidney Lanier

A Birthday Song. To S. G.

For ever wave, for ever float and shine
Before my yearning eyes, oh! dream of mine
Wherein I dreamed that time was like a vine,

A creeping rose, that clomb a height of dread
Out of the sea of Birth, all filled with dead,
Up to the brilliant cloud of Death o'erhead.

This vine bore many blossoms, which were years.
Their petals, red with joy, or bleached by tears,
Waved to and fro i' the winds of hopes and fears.

Here all men clung, each hanging by his spray.
Anon, one dropped; his neighbor 'gan to pray;
And so they clung and dropped and prayed, alway.

But I did mark one lately-opened bloom,
Wherefrom arose a visible perfume
That wrapped me in a cloud of dainty gloom.

And rose - an odor by a spirit haunted -
And drew me upward with a...

Sidney Lanier

The Language Of Flowers.

Fly swift, my light gazelle,
    To her who now lies waking,
To hear thy silver bell
    The midnight silence breaking.
And, when thou com'st, with gladsome feet,
    Beneath her lattice springing,
Ah, well she'll know how sweet
    The words of love thou'rt bringing.

Yet, no--not words, for they
    But half can tell love's feeling;
Sweet flowers alone can say
    What passion fears revealing.
A once bright rose's withered leaf,
    A towering lily broken,--
Oh these may paint a grief
    No words could e'er have spoken.

Not such, my gay gazelle,
    The wreath thou speedest over
Yon moonlight dale, to tell
    My lady how I love her.
And, what to her will sweeter be
    Than gems the richest, rarest,--
From Truth's i...

Thomas Moore

To My Class: On Certain Fruits and Flowers Sent Me in Sickness.

If spicy-fringed pinks that blush and pale
With passions of perfume, - if violets blue
That hint of heaven with odor more than hue, -
If perfect roses, each a holy Grail
Wherefrom the blood of beauty doth exhale
Grave raptures round, - if leaves of green as new
As those fresh chaplets wove in dawn and dew
By Emily when down the Athenian vale
She paced, to do observance to the May,
Nor dreamed of Arcite nor of Palamon, -
If fruits that riped in some more riotous play
Of wind and beam that stirs our temperate sun, -
If these the products be of love and pain,
Oft may I suffer, and you love, again.


Baltimore, Christmas, 1880.

Sidney Lanier

Two Roses.

I've a friend beyond the ocean
    So regardful, so sincere,
And he sends me in a letter
    Such a pretty souvenir.

It is crushed to death and withered,
    Out of shape and very flat,
But its pure, delicious odor
    Is the richer for all that.

'Tis a rose from Honolulu,
    And it bears the tropic brand,
Sandwiched in this friendly missive
    From that far-off flower-land.

It shall mingle pot-à-pourri
    With the scents I love and keep;
Some of them so very precious
    That remembrance makes me weep.

While I dream I hear the music
    That of happiness foretells,
Like the flourishing of trumpets
    And the sound of marriage bells.

There's a rose upon the prairie,
    Chosen his by happy fate,...

Hattie Howard

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