Just like Love is yonder rose.

The rose is fairest when 't is budding new,
And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears.
The rose is sweetest wash'd with morning dew,
And love is loveliest when embalm'd in tears.

The rose is fairest when 't is budding new,
And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears;
The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew
And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears.

I love the fair lilies and roses so gay,
They are rich in their pride and their splendor;
But still more do I love to wander away
To the meadow so sweet,
Where down at my feet,
The harebell blooms modest and tender.

If love were what the rose is, And I were like the leaf, Our lives would grow together, In sad or singing weather, Blown fields or flowerful closes, Green pleasure or grey grief; If love were what the rose is, And I were like the leaf.

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.

If love were what the rose is,
And I were like the leaf,
Our lives would grow together
In sad or singing weather,
Blown fields or flowerful closes,
Green pasture or gray grief;
If love were what the rose is,
And I were like the leaf.

Oh, where is there the heart but knows
Love's first steps are upon the rose!

A rose is a rose is a rose.

Love is like the wild rose-briar;
Friendship like the holly-tree.
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms,
But which will bloom most constantly?
The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring
,Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again,
And who will call the wild-briar fair?
Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now,
And deck thee with holly's sheen,
That, when December blights thy brow,
He still may leave thy garland green.

The modest Rose puts forth a Thorn.
The humble Sheep a threat'ning Horn.
While the Lily white shall in love delight.
Nor a Thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.

Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose.

My love is like the red red rose
That's newly sprung in June
O my love's like the melody
That's newly played in tune

Nowhere on earth does the rose of happiness blossom without thorns; but what bursts forth out of these thorns is everywhere and in various guises the transient, yet beautiful rose of man’s joy in living.