Showing posts with label Sapho. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sapho. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 22, 2017

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ The Flower: Rose



   “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet” — William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, 2.2.


SOURCE



“Can anyone remember love? It’s like trying to summon up the smell of roses in a cellar. You might see a rose, but never the perfume.”— Arthur Miller



Midweek Motif ~ The Flower Rose



Say it with Roses today.
          
Write whatever it means to you. You might even focus on its thorns if you so wish.

Such a gentle, beautiful and aristocratic flower has deep rooted ties not only with love but also with religion and politics.

In April, 2011, NASA celebrated its 21st anniversary by releasing an image of spiral galaxies positioned in a rose-like shape.


SOURCE


Now a few Rose poems for you:


Song of the Rose
by Sappho

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 lightning of beauty that strikes through the bowers 
On pale lovers that 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. 
                    

My Pretty Rose Tree
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. 
                 


Nobody Knows This Little Rose
by Emily Dickinson 

Nobody knows this little Rose—
It might a pilgrim be
Did I not take it from the ways
And lift it up to thee.
Only a Bee will miss it—
Only a Butterfly,
Hastening from far journey—
On its breast to lie—
Only a Bird will wonder—
Only a Breeze will sigh—
Ah Little Rose—how easy
For such as thee to die! 
                  

 Please share your new poem using Mr. Linky below and visit others in the spirit of the community—
                (Next week Susan’s Midweek Motif will be ~ Bittersweet)     

     

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