A Dozen Roses for my Wild Irish Rose
My daughter AlysonRose turned 21 on Sunday, and I was unable to spend her milestone birthday with her. She was in pretty good spirits about it (I mean, who doesn't enjoy 21?). Rose has always been a fierce, free spirit, a wild faerie child. I called her my Wild Irish Rose, because Alyson is the Irish form of the name Alice, and from birth this child was (and remains!) Hell on wheels. Happy happy 21, AlysonRose. Don't ever change.
1. A Red, Red Rose
O my Luve’s like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve’s like the melodie
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry:
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare thee well, my only Luve
And fare thee well, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ it were ten thousand mile.
— Robert Burns, for more see Complete Poems
***
2. The Lover Tells of the Rose in His Heart
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 wrong of unshapely things is a wrong too great to be told;
I hunger to build them anew and sit on a green knoll apart,
With the earth and the sky and the water, re-made, like a casket of gold
For my dreams of your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.
— W.B. Yeats, for more see Collected Poems
***
3. Had I not been awake, that
a child
then whispered in the night, humbly
of a rose—a little rose asleep
in the meadow amid the lupine—of
a shooting-star beyond the daystar, keeping
at the horizon:
kindly, the faint star wanders—
and time, perceptibly
beyond her breath; time, the edge
of its light, a ghost
I am within her eyes, and from my hands
rendered unable to reach for her, she, too, a ghost.
I had loved flowers that faded, these
rose petals had I placed
gently on her closed eyes, upon her eyelids touched
the edge of a cool petal, near
until it would be felt cool in time no longer, this
under one small star wandering, perhaps
awake, this
romance of bones kept as relics—after
faith and plighted troth has faded—but kept
nonetheless, as
the scent of rosebuds from the dust.
— John Daniel Thieme, appeared at Every Day Poems
***
4. The Rose Family - Poem by Robert Frost
The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But the theory now goes
That the apple's a rose,
And the pear is, and so's
The plum, I suppose.
The dear only knows
What will next prove a rose.
You, of course, are a rose -
But were always a rose.
***
5. My Pretty Rose Tree - Poem by William Blake
A flower was offered to me,
Such a flower as May never bore;
But I said 'I've a pretty rose tree,'
And I passed the sweet flower o'er.
Then I went to my pretty rose tree,
To tend her by day and by night;
But my rose turned away with jealousy,
And her thorns were my only delight.
***
6. A White Rose - Poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
THE red rose whispers of passion,
And the white rose breathes of love;
O, the red rose is a falcon,
And the white rose is a dove.
But I send you a cream-white rosebud
With a flush on its petal tips;
For the love that is purest and sweetest
Has a kiss of desire on the lips
***
7. O Gather Me The Rose - Poem by William Ernest Henley
O gather me the rose, the rose,
While yet in flower we find it,
For summer smiles, but summer goes,
And winter waits behind it.
For with the dream foregone, foregone,
The deed foreborn forever,
The worm Regret will canker on,
And time will turn him never.
So were it well to love, my love,
And cheat of any laughter
The fate beneath us, and above,
The dark before and after.
The myrtle and the rose, the rose,
The sunshine and the swallow,
The dream that comes, the wish that goes
The memories that follow!
***
8. Sea Rose - Poem by Hilda Doolittle
Rose, harsh rose,
marred and with stint of petals,
meagre flower, thin,
sparse of leaf,
more precious
than a wet rose
single on a stem --
you are caught in the drift.
Stunted, with small leaf,
you are flung on the sand,
you are lifted
in the crisp sand
that drives in the wind.
Can the spice-rose
drip such acrid fragrance
hardened in a leaf?
***
9. When The Rose Is Faded - Poem by Walter de la Mare
When the rose is faded,
Memory may still dwell on
Her beauty shadowed,
And the sweet smell gone.
That vanishing loveliness,
That burdening breath,
No bond of life hath then,
Nor grief of death.
'Tis the immortal thought
Whose passion still
Makes the changing
The unchangeable.
Oh, thus thy beauty,
Loveliest on earth to me,
Dark with no sorrow, shines
And burns, with thee.
***
10. The Rose And The Bee - Poem by Sara Teasdale
IF I were a bee and you were a rose,
Would you let me in when the gray wind blows?
Would you hold your petals wide apart,
Would you let me in to find your heart,
If you were a rose?
"If I were a rose and you were a bee,
You should never go when you came to me,
I should hold my love on my heart at last,
I should close my leaves and keep you fast,
If you were a bee."
***
11. Laughing Rose - Poem by William Henry Davies
If I were gusty April now,
How I would blow at laughing Rose;
I'd make her ribbons slip their knots,
And all her hair come loose.
If I were merry April now,
How I would pelt her cheeks with showers;
I'd make carnations, rich and warm,
Of her vermillion flowers.
Since she will laugh in April's face
No matter how he rains or blows --
Then O that I wild April were,
To play with laughing Rose
***
12.
Poems from https://www.tweetspeakpoetry.com/2014/08/21/top-ten-rose-poems/
https://www.poemhunter.com/poems/rose/page-1/23085/#content
https://www.google.com/search?sxsrf=ALeKk0127vcVu3wyqRTH6NoaFW1UJn99sg%3A1586796958657&source=hp&ei=npmUXuetJZvatQbvlrmYBA&q=my+wild+irish+rose+lyrics&oq=my+wild+irish&gs_lcp=CgZwc3ktYWIQARgAMgUIABCRAjICCAAyAggAMgIIADICCAAyAggAMgIIADICCAAyAggAMgIIADoHCCMQ6gIQJzoFCAAQgwE6BAgjECc6BAgAEENKJwgXEiMwZzMxOGcxODdnMjA5ZzIyN2c2NzJnOC03MDRnMTgzZzI3N0oXCBgSEzBnMWcxZzFnMWcxZzgtMWcxZzRQ8CBYgDhgmERoA3AAeAGAAeYMiAHxJJIBDzAuNy4xLjAuMS4yLjgtMZgBAKABAaoBB2d3cy13aXqwAQo&sclient=psy-ab#spf=1586796968676
O my Luve’s like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve’s like the melodie
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry:
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare thee well, my only Luve
And fare thee well, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ it were ten thousand mile.
— Robert Burns, for more see Complete Poems
***
2. The Lover Tells of the Rose in His Heart
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 wrong of unshapely things is a wrong too great to be told;
I hunger to build them anew and sit on a green knoll apart,
With the earth and the sky and the water, re-made, like a casket of gold
For my dreams of your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.
— W.B. Yeats, for more see Collected Poems
***
3. Had I not been awake, that
a child
then whispered in the night, humbly
of a rose—a little rose asleep
in the meadow amid the lupine—of
a shooting-star beyond the daystar, keeping
at the horizon:
kindly, the faint star wanders—
and time, perceptibly
beyond her breath; time, the edge
of its light, a ghost
I am within her eyes, and from my hands
rendered unable to reach for her, she, too, a ghost.
I had loved flowers that faded, these
rose petals had I placed
gently on her closed eyes, upon her eyelids touched
the edge of a cool petal, near
until it would be felt cool in time no longer, this
under one small star wandering, perhaps
awake, this
romance of bones kept as relics—after
faith and plighted troth has faded—but kept
nonetheless, as
the scent of rosebuds from the dust.
— John Daniel Thieme, appeared at Every Day Poems
***
4. The Rose Family - Poem by Robert Frost
The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But the theory now goes
That the apple's a rose,
And the pear is, and so's
The plum, I suppose.
The dear only knows
What will next prove a rose.
You, of course, are a rose -
But were always a rose.
***
5. My Pretty Rose Tree - Poem by William Blake
A flower was offered to me,
Such a flower as May never bore;
But I said 'I've a pretty rose tree,'
And I passed the sweet flower o'er.
Then I went to my pretty rose tree,
To tend her by day and by night;
But my rose turned away with jealousy,
And her thorns were my only delight.
***
6. A White Rose - Poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
THE red rose whispers of passion,
And the white rose breathes of love;
O, the red rose is a falcon,
And the white rose is a dove.
But I send you a cream-white rosebud
With a flush on its petal tips;
For the love that is purest and sweetest
Has a kiss of desire on the lips
***
7. O Gather Me The Rose - Poem by William Ernest Henley
O gather me the rose, the rose,
While yet in flower we find it,
For summer smiles, but summer goes,
And winter waits behind it.
For with the dream foregone, foregone,
The deed foreborn forever,
The worm Regret will canker on,
And time will turn him never.
So were it well to love, my love,
And cheat of any laughter
The fate beneath us, and above,
The dark before and after.
The myrtle and the rose, the rose,
The sunshine and the swallow,
The dream that comes, the wish that goes
The memories that follow!
***
8. Sea Rose - Poem by Hilda Doolittle
Rose, harsh rose,
marred and with stint of petals,
meagre flower, thin,
sparse of leaf,
more precious
than a wet rose
single on a stem --
you are caught in the drift.
Stunted, with small leaf,
you are flung on the sand,
you are lifted
in the crisp sand
that drives in the wind.
Can the spice-rose
drip such acrid fragrance
hardened in a leaf?
***
9. When The Rose Is Faded - Poem by Walter de la Mare
When the rose is faded,
Memory may still dwell on
Her beauty shadowed,
And the sweet smell gone.
That vanishing loveliness,
That burdening breath,
No bond of life hath then,
Nor grief of death.
'Tis the immortal thought
Whose passion still
Makes the changing
The unchangeable.
Oh, thus thy beauty,
Loveliest on earth to me,
Dark with no sorrow, shines
And burns, with thee.
***
10. The Rose And The Bee - Poem by Sara Teasdale
IF I were a bee and you were a rose,
Would you let me in when the gray wind blows?
Would you hold your petals wide apart,
Would you let me in to find your heart,
If you were a rose?
"If I were a rose and you were a bee,
You should never go when you came to me,
I should hold my love on my heart at last,
I should close my leaves and keep you fast,
If you were a bee."
***
11. Laughing Rose - Poem by William Henry Davies
If I were gusty April now,
How I would blow at laughing Rose;
I'd make her ribbons slip their knots,
And all her hair come loose.
If I were merry April now,
How I would pelt her cheeks with showers;
I'd make carnations, rich and warm,
Of her vermillion flowers.
Since she will laugh in April's face
No matter how he rains or blows --
Then O that I wild April were,
To play with laughing Rose
***
12.
My Wild Irish Rose -- Daniel O'Donnell
If you listen I'll sing you a sweet little song
Of a flower that's now dropped and dead,
Yet dearer to me, yes than all of its mates,
Though each holds aloft its proud head.
Twas given to me by a girl that I know,
Since we've met, faith I've known no repose.
She is dearer by far than the world's brightest star,
And I call her my wild Irish Rose.
Of a flower that's now dropped and dead,
Yet dearer to me, yes than all of its mates,
Though each holds aloft its proud head.
Twas given to me by a girl that I know,
Since we've met, faith I've known no repose.
She is dearer by far than the world's brightest star,
And I call her my wild Irish Rose.
My wild Irish Rose, the sweetest flower that grows.
You may search everywhere, but none can compare with my wild Irish Rose.
My wild Irish Rose, the dearest flower that grows,
And some day for my sake, she may let me take the bloom from my wild Irish Rose.
You may search everywhere, but none can compare with my wild Irish Rose.
My wild Irish Rose, the dearest flower that grows,
And some day for my sake, she may let me take the bloom from my wild Irish Rose.
They may sing of their rose, which by other names,
Would smell just as sweetly, they say.
But I know that my Rose would never consent
To have that sweet name…
Would smell just as sweetly, they say.
But I know that my Rose would never consent
To have that sweet name…
They may sing of their rose, which by other names,
Would smell just as sweetly, they say.
But I know that my Rose would never consent
To have that sweet name taken away.
Her glances are shy when e'er I pass by
The bower where my true love grows,
And my one wish has been that some day I may win
The heart of my wild Irish Rose.
Would smell just as sweetly, they say.
But I know that my Rose would never consent
To have that sweet name taken away.
Her glances are shy when e'er I pass by
The bower where my true love grows,
And my one wish has been that some day I may win
The heart of my wild Irish Rose.
My wild Irish Rose, the sweetest flower that grows.
You may search everywhere, but none can compare with my wild Irish Rose.
My wild Irish Rose, the dearest flower that grows,
And some day for my sake, she may let me take the bloom from my wild Irish Rose.
You may search everywhere, but none can compare with my wild Irish Rose.
My wild Irish Rose, the dearest flower that grows,
And some day for my sake, she may let me take the bloom from my wild Irish Rose.
Poems from https://www.tweetspeakpoetry.com/2014/08/21/top-ten-rose-poems/
https://www.poemhunter.com/poems/rose/page-1/23085/#content
https://www.google.com/search?sxsrf=ALeKk0127vcVu3wyqRTH6NoaFW1UJn99sg%3A1586796958657&source=hp&ei=npmUXuetJZvatQbvlrmYBA&q=my+wild+irish+rose+lyrics&oq=my+wild+irish&gs_lcp=CgZwc3ktYWIQARgAMgUIABCRAjICCAAyAggAMgIIADICCAAyAggAMgIIADICCAAyAggAMgIIADoHCCMQ6gIQJzoFCAAQgwE6BAgjECc6BAgAEENKJwgXEiMwZzMxOGcxODdnMjA5ZzIyN2c2NzJnOC03MDRnMTgzZzI3N0oXCBgSEzBnMWcxZzFnMWcxZzgtMWcxZzRQ8CBYgDhgmERoA3AAeAGAAeYMiAHxJJIBDzAuNy4xLjAuMS4yLjgtMZgBAKABAaoBB2d3cy13aXqwAQo&sclient=psy-ab#spf=1586796968676
Comments
Post a Comment