Let Fate do her worst;
there are relics of joy,
Bright dreams of the past,
which she cannot destroy;
Which come in the night-time
of sorrow and care,
And bring back the features
that joy used to wear.
Long, long be my heart
with such memories filled,
Like the vase in which roses
have once ben distilled.
You may break,
you may shatter the vase
if you will,
But the scent of the roses
will hang round it still.
- Rose Poems by Thomas Moore

The fairest flower of them all,
I give to you as we part.
For you it is a Red Rose,
for me it is my heart.
- Unknown

They are not long,
the weeping and the laughter,
Love and desire and hate:
I think they
have no portion in us after
We pass the gate.
They are not long,
the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while,
then closes
Within a dream.
- Poems by Ernest Dowson

The Language
Of Roses
Index

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