ARS Game

The whiteness of her bosom transcendeth the lily; her smile is more delicious than a garden of roses.
The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the rose.
"The roses fearfully on thorns did stand, one blushing shame, another white despair..."
O lady leave thy silken threads and flowery tapestry. There's real roses on the bush and flowers on the tree."
"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."
"Red roses, used to praises long, Contented with the poet's song, The nightingales being over; And lilies white, prepared to touch The whitest thought, nor soil it much, Of dreamer turned to lover.
If Zeus chose us a King of the flowers in his mirth, He would call to the rose and would royally crown it, For the rose, ho, the rose! is the grace of the earth, Is the light of the plants that are growing upon it. For the rose, ho, the rose! is the eye of the flowers, Is the blush of the meadows that feel themselves fair, - Is the lightening of beauty, that strikes through the bowers On pale lovers who sit in the glow unaware. Ho, the rose breathes of love! ho, the rose lifts the cup To the red lips of Cypris invoked for a guest! Ho, the rose, having curled its sweet leaves for the world, Takes delight in the motion its petals keep up, As they laugh to the Wind as it laughs from the west.
"The air is damp and hushed and close, As a sick man's room when he taketh repose An hour before death - My very heart faints and my whole soul grieves At the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves, And the breath Of the fading edges of box beneath, And the year's last rose."
"Nature responds so beautifully. Roses are only once-wild roses, that were given an extra chance, So they bloomed out and filled themselves with coloured fullness Out of sheer desire to be splendid, and more splendid."
"And still I look for the men who will dare to be roses of England, wild roses of England, men who are wild roses of England with metal thorns beware! but still more brave and still more rare the courage of rosiness in a cabbage world fragrance of roses in a stale stink of lies, rose-leaves to bewilder the clever fools and rose-briars to strangle the machine."
Look to the Rose that blows about us--"Lo,
"Laughing," she says,"into the World I blow:
"At once the silken Tassel of my Purse
"Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."
A large rose-tree stood near the entrance of the garden: the roses growing on it were white, but there were three gardeners at it, busily painting them red. Alice thought this a very curious thing, and she went nearer to watch them, and just as she came up to them she heard one of them say, `Look out now, Five! Don't go splashing paint over me like that!'
A sepal, petal, and a thorn; Upon a common summer's morn, A flash of dew, a bee or two, A breeze; A caper in the trees,-- And I 'm a rose!
As late I rambled in the happy fields,
What time the sky-lark shakes the tremulous dew
From his lush clover covert;--when anew
Adventurous knights take up their dinted shields:
I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields,
A fresh-blown musk-rose; 'twas the first that threw
Its sweets upon the summer: graceful it grew
As is the wand that queen Titania wields.
And, as I feasted on its fragrancy,
I thought the garden-rose it far excell'd:
But when, O Wells! thy roses came to me
My sense with their deliciousness was spell'd:
Soft voices had they, that with tender plea
Whisper'd of peace, and truth, and friendliness unquell'd.
Roses red and roses white
Plucked I for my love's delight.
She would none of all my posies--
Bade me gather her blue roses.
Half the world I wandered through,
Seeking where such flowers grew.
Half the world unto my quest
Answered me with laugh and jest.
Home I came at wintertide,
But my silly love had died
Seeking with her latest breath
Roses from the arms of Death.
It may be beyond the grave
She shall find what she would have.
Mine was but an idle quest--
Roses white and red are best!
A flower was offer'd 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 turn'd away with jealousy,
And her thorns were my only delight.
Roses at first were white, Till they could not agree, Whether my Sappho's breast, Or they more white sho'd be.
But being vanquished quite, A blush their cheeks bespread: Since which (believe the rest), The Roses first came red.
The roses lies upon the grass, Like little shreds of crimson silk.
He who would have beautiful roses in his garden must have beautiful roses in his heart.
Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye,
Thy root is ever in its grave;
And thou must die.

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