The Rose did caper on her cheek-
Her Bodice rose and fell-
Her pretty speech-like drunken men-
Did stagger pitiful—

Her fingers fumbled at her work-
Her needle would not go-
What ailed so smart a little Maid-
It puzzled me to know-

Till opposite-I spied a cheek
That bore another Rose-
Just opposite-Another speech
That like the Drunkard goes-

A Vest that like her Bodice, danced-
To the immortal tune-
Till those two troubled-little Clocks
Ticked softly into one.
Poem by Emily Dickinson

This guelder rose, at far too
slight a beck Of the wind,
will toss about her flower-apples.
- Quote by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

The Language
Of Roses
Index

ROMANTIC
LOVE SECRETS
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