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  24  /  23  

And thus, what can we do,
Poor rose and poet too,
Who both antedate our mission
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And thus, what can we do,
Poor rose and poet too,
Who both antedate our mission
In an unprepared season?

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  30  /  34  

I wish I might a rose-bud grow
And thou wouldst cull me from the bower.
To place read more

I wish I might a rose-bud grow
And thou wouldst cull me from the bower.
To place me on that breast of snow
Where I should bloom a wintry flower.

by Rose Terry Cooke Found in: Roses Quotes,
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  12  /  16  

Let us crown ourselves with rosebuds before they wither.

Let us crown ourselves with rosebuds before they wither.

by Bible Found in: General Sayings, Roses Sayings,
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  17  /  16  

Go pretty rose, go to my fair,
Go tell her all I fain would dare,
Tell her read more

Go pretty rose, go to my fair,
Go tell her all I fain would dare,
Tell her of hope; tell her of spring,
Tell her of all I fain would sing,
Oh! were I like thee, so fair a thing.

by Michael Beverly Found in: Roses Quotes,
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  21  /  28  

Till the rose's lips grow pale
With her sighs.

Till the rose's lips grow pale
With her sighs.

by Rose Terry Cooke Found in: Roses Quotes,
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  31  /  22  

"For if I wait," said she,
"Till time for roses be,--
For the moss-rose and the musk-rose,
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"For if I wait," said she,
"Till time for roses be,--
For the moss-rose and the musk-rose,
Maiden-blush and royal-dusk rose,--
"What glory then for me
In such a company?--
Roses plenty, roses plenty
And one nightingale for twenty?"

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  14  /  34  

The full-blown rose, mid dewy sweets
Most perfect dies.

The full-blown rose, mid dewy sweets
Most perfect dies.

by Maria Brooks Found in: Roses Quotes,
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  14  /  41  

All June I bound the rose in sheaves,
Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves.

All June I bound the rose in sheaves,
Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves.

by Robert Browning Found in: Roses Quotes,
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  26  /  18  

O rose, who dares to name thee?
No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet,
But pale, read more

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

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