The white rose is a symbol of purity and innocence, often associated with love and new beginnings. In this love poem, the speaker reflects on the enduring nature of their love, likening it to a white rose that blossoms and thrives despite the passing of time and the challenges it may face.
The poem begins by describing the white rose as a "timeless" symbol of love, suggesting that this love is eternal and unchanging. The speaker compares their love to the rose's "delicate petals," which remain soft and beautiful despite the passage of time. This metaphor conveys the idea that their love is enduring and resilient, able to withstand the tests of time and the challenges that life may bring.
As the poem progresses, the speaker reflects on the way in which their love has grown and flourished over time. They describe the rose as "blooming" and "growing," suggesting that their love has deepened and become more meaningful with each passing day. This metaphor suggests that their love is not only enduring, but also constantly evolving and deepening, becoming more beautiful and meaningful as time goes on.
Despite the challenges that life may bring, the speaker remains confident in the strength and resilience of their love. They describe the white rose as "strong" and "unwavering," suggesting that their love is able to withstand any obstacle or hardship that may come its way. This metaphor conveys the idea that their love is unshakeable and unwavering, a constant source of support and strength in their lives.
In conclusion, the white rose love poem is a beautiful tribute to the enduring nature of love. Through its metaphors and imagery, the poem conveys the idea that love is timeless, enduring, and constantly evolving, a source of strength and beauty that can withstand the challenges of life. Whether blossoming in its early stages or growing and thriving over time, the white rose represents the pure and enduring nature of true love.
17 Rose Poems, Short Poems
I cannot think of anything more justifying then frying them out -finally stop the lying- and make the people proud. One Red Rose by John Wright I was drawn to one red rose all this week as it unfolded and arose for me to see it seemed to mean something wonderful to me I tried to write about it this one red rose but it kept landing in the spaces between the written words but yet inside my soul the love of the living Word I heard the one red rose was gone today in my flower garden I could not see but within the spirit it did abide and love lifted me 2. Thomas Moore My Sweet Sweeting Ah, my sweet sweeting; My little pretty sweeting, My sweeting will I love wherever I go; She is so proper and pure, Full, steadfast, stable, and demure, There is none such, you may be sure, As my sweet sweeting. No no no, that cannot be. A Flower for Honey Rose by S.
In the window full of sunlight Concentrates her golden shadow Fold on fold, until it glows as Mellow as the glory roses. I hope you all have a wonderful Sunday and know that God loves you! The clocks are striking, calling to each other, and one can see right to the edge of time. Thorns started to prick me That caused me too much pain. How do I contain the lust of her radiance and the yearn for her beauty and smell and why do I crave you so well? But no word finds its way to the heart of you. Loving a rose so sweet, the beautiful dreams of my sleep, the green pigment of my leaf and characteristics to ease me leaving me the peace my heart needs to succeed. Her heart the careless passer-by may see, — Sweet is her fragrance thro' the burning day, But sweeter is her open secrecy! Wild nights — Wild nights! My skin is alive with the soft imprint of your mouth. She had thought how his armor would blaze in the sun, As he rode like a prince to claim his bride: In the sweet dim light of the falling night She found him at her side.
We had so much to give and share. Too much of anything undoes effects; A single petal yet, looks wonderful; A mound of roses is no treat to eyes; A rose given from heart with love is great! A hawk high poised in air, whose nerved wing-tips Tremble with might suppressed, before he dips, In vigilance, scarce more intense Than I, when her voice holds my sense Contented in suspense. Yeats All things uncomely and broken, all things worn out and old, The cry of a child by the roadway, the creak of a lumbering cart, The heavy steps of the ploughman, splashing the wintry mould, Are wronging your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart. The desperate Lover can hope no redress; Where Beauty and Rigour are both in excess! Yet the day wears, And door succeeds door; I try the fresh fortune— Range the wide house from the wing to the centre. But though ocean waves may sever I from thee, and thee from me, Still this constant heart will never, Never cease to think of thee. Sara Teasdale Love In a Life Room after room, I hunt the house through We inhabit together. I admired the way her words sang to my heart… words of her life her truth her fears… and when I heard her recite her poetry it was music to my ears.
Wild Rose Tree by Richard Watson Gilder On the wild-rose tree Many buds there be; Yet each sunny hour Hath but one fair flower. Before every tree in the forest looked like every other tree And every bird that soars the skies sang matching melodies. Hast thou, then, waited all this weary time From tiny bud to fullest crimson bloom— With hope and patience wondrously sublime Through dismal, dreary months of cold and gloom? I see you in all around me,— The stream, the night, the wood; The flowers that sleep so gently, The stars above the blue, Oh! A tranquility of an interior heart and soul, as life keeps moving with love into the night while going home. The Best Poem Of White Rose A Lesson In Drawing My son places his paint box in front of me and asks me to draw a bird for him. It hath in all my daily thoughts a share, And forms the burden of my nightly prayer! The Garden of Saint Rose by Bliss Carman This is a holy refuge The garden of Saint Rose A fragrant altar to that peace The world no longer knows.
The White Rose — A Poem for those Grieving Infant Loss
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound; I grant I never saw a goddess go; My mistress when she walks treads on the ground. Rose is rose whatever be its colour and scent. Like something strange, undreamt-of, my fate now gazes at me. I cannot take the woman at her worth! A fountain of cherry blossom petals trace down to the ground dressing the green. How many miracles can there be? Among his works stand out Ismaelillo 1882 , Simple verses 1891 , Free verses 1913, posthumous and Banishment flowers 1933, posthumous , while in his essays he highlights Our America 1891. Gloire de Dijon by D. Unknown the impulse of her sweet unrest.
The drips of water plunged from it. See the magic pen sitting by the book meant just for two. Oh, learn it, children, ere thy lives are old! Let me count the ways. It could be red, yellow or even white, Whichever it is it would be a beautiful sight. .
Wind of the summer night! How does Love speak? One thing of all dim things I know is true, The heart within me knows, and tells it you, And tells it you. Color restored to new with just a look; Remembered voice that haunts me like a hymn. Your rose will help you through all your hard times. I retreated like a hermit for awhile into the severed candle of my solitude that burned like a comet to return on the day of my death in your eyes like the last known address of my homelessness on the lost gospel of the loveletter I sent you lightyears from paradise. Pink Roses by Gert Strydom There are pink roses behind the razor wire, the cups of some are already open and the buds of some still is closed. If I could stir I could break a tree - I could break you.
Gently unfolding the mysteries of a heavenly romance between Spirit and soul. Thou art loved so dearly: I am plain, but then Thou to speak sincerely Art as plain again. How does Love speak? The bottom of her roots sinks deep within me, keeping me firmly embedded in the foundation our love. Cool through the heat of summer, Still as a sacred grove, It has the rapt unworldly air Of mystery and love. To you I belong, however time may wear me away. My skin is alive with the soft imprint of your mouth.