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.
It will never rain roses: when we want to have more roses we must plant more trees.
The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyone the sculpted flower.
What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
A single rose can be my garden... a single friend, my world.
The sweetest flower that blows,
I give you as we part.
For you it is a Rose,
For me it is my heart.
Gather the rose of love whilst yet is time.
And I will make thee beds of roses, And a thousand fragrant posies.
Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.
I'd rather have roses on my table than diamonds on my neck.
A successful marriage requires falling in love many times, always with the same person.
And the rose like a nymph to the bath addrest,
Which unveiled the depth of her glowing breast,
Till, fold after fold, to the fainting air,
The soul of her beauty and love lay bare.
Love thou the rose, yet leave it on its stem.
How cunningly nature hides every wrinkle of her inconceivable antiquity under roses and violets and morning dew!
Won't you come into the garden? I would like my roses to see you.
Just remember, during the winter, far beneath the bitter snow, that there's a seed that with the sun's love in the spring becomes a rose.
If love were what the rose is,
And I were like the leaf,
Our lives would grow together
In sad or singing weather.
Hope is brightest when it dawns from fears.
Long live the rose that grew from the concrete when no one else ever cared!
grow old with me. the best is yet to be. the last of life for which the first was made.
Oh my luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June;
Oh my luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune.
Love thou rose, yet leave it on its stem.
She bathed with roses red,
And violets blew.
And all the sweetest flowres
That in the forrest grew.
A profusion of pink roses being ragged in the rain speaks to me of all gentleness and its enduring.
O, my luve is like a red, red rose.
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