To A Rose

O rose! forbear to flaunt yourself,
    All bloom and dew -
I once, sad-hearted as I am,
    Was young as you.

But, one by one, the petals fell
    Earthward to rot;
Only a berry testifies
    A rose forgot.

Richard Le Gallienne

Richard Le Gallienne was an English author and poet born on January 20, 1866. Known for his lyrical poetry, he was a key figure in the literary circles of the fin de siècle. He contributed to the literary magazine 'The Yellow Book' and was involved with the Rhymers' Club, an influential group of London-based poets. His works often explored themes of beauty, love, and nature. His influence extended to both sides of the Atlantic, and he spent the latter part of his life in the United States, where he continued to write until his death on September 15, 1947.

Richard Le Gallienne

Omar Khayyám

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

The Loveliest Face And The Wild Rose

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

To Lucy Hinton: December 19, 1921

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

The Broker Of Dreams

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

English

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

The Rose Has Left The Garden

The Rose has left the garden,
Here she but faintly lives,
Lives but for me,
Within this little urn of pot-pourri
Of all that was
And never more can be,
While her black berries harden
On the wind-shaken tree.
Yet if my song a little fragrance gives,
'Tis not all loss,
Something I save
From the sweet grave
Wherein she lies,
Something she gave
That never dies,
Something that may still live
In these my words
That draw from her their breath,
And fain would be her birds
Still in her death.

Richard Le Gallienne

Parables

I

Dear Love, you ask if I be true,
If other women move
The heart that only beats for you
With pulses all of love.

Out in the chilly dew one morn
I plucked a wild sweet rose,
A little silver bud new-born
And longing to unclose.

I took it, loving new-born things,
I knew my heart was warm,
'O little silver rose, come in
And shelter from the storm.'

And soon, against my body pressed,
I felt its petals part,
And, looking down within my breast
I saw its golden heart.

O such a golden heart it has,
Your eyes may never see,
To others it is always shut,
It opens but for me.

But that is why you see me pass
The honeysuckle there,
And leave the lilies in the grass,
Although they be so fair;

Richard Le Gallienne

The Rose.

    It tossed its head at the wooing breeze;
        And the sun, like a bashful swain,
    Beamed on it through the waving frees
        With a passion all in vain, -
    For my rose laughed in a crimson glee,
    And hid in the leaves in wait for me.

    The honey-bee came there to sing
        His love through the languid hours,
    And vaunt of his hives, as a proud old king
        Might boast of his palace-towers:
    But my rose bowed in a mockery,
    And hid in the leaves in wait for me.

    The humming-bird, like a courtier gay,
        Dipped down with a dalliant song,
    And twanged his wings through the roundelay
        Of love the whole day long:
    Yet my rose turned from his minstrelsy
    And hid in the leaves in wait for m...

James Whitcomb Riley

To A Rosebud In Humble Life

    Sweet, uncultivated blossom,
    Reared in Spring's refreshing dews,
    Dear to every gazer's bosom,
    Fair to every eye that views;--
    Opening bud, whose youth can charm us,
    Thine be many a happy hour:
    Spreading rose, whose beauties warm us--
    Flourish long, my lovely flower.

    Though pride look disdainful on thee,
    Scorning scenes so mean as thine,
    Although fortune frown upon thee,
    Lovely blossom, ne'er repine:
    Health unbought is ever with thee,
    Which their wealth can never gain;
    Innocence doth garments give thee,
    Such as fashion apes in vain.

    When fit time and reason grant thee
    Leave to quit the parent tree,
    May some happy hand transplant thee
    To a station suiting t...

John Clare

A Dead Rose

O Rose! who dares to name thee?
No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet;
But pale, and hard, and dry, as stubble-wheat,
Kept seven years in a drawer, thy titles shame thee.

The breeze that used to blow thee
Between the hedgerow thorns, and take away
An odour up the lane to last all day,
If breathing now, unsweetened would forego thee.

The sun that used to smite thee,
And mix his glory in thy gorgeous urn,
Till beam appeared to bloom, and flower to burn,
If shining now, with not a hue would light thee.

The dew that used to wet thee,
And, white first, grow incarnadined, because
It lay upon thee where the crimson was,
If dropping now, would darken where it met thee.

The fly that lit upon thee,
To stretch the tendrils of its tiny fe...

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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