The rose that all are praising
Is not the rose for me.

The rose that all are praising
Is not the rose for me.

Till the rose's lips grow pale
With her sighs.

Till the rose's lips grow pale
With her sighs.

Yon rose-buds in the morning-dew,
How pure amang the leaves sae green!

Yon rose-buds in the morning-dew,
How pure amang the leaves sae green!

And thus, what can we do,
Poor rose and poet too,
Who both antedate our mission
read more

And thus, what can we do,
Poor rose and poet too,
Who both antedate our mission
In an unprepared season?

'Twas a yellow rose,
By that south window of the little house,
My cousin Romney gathered with read more

'Twas a yellow rose,
By that south window of the little house,
My cousin Romney gathered with his hand
On all my birthdays, for me. save the last;
And then I shook the tree too rough, too rough,
For roses to stay after.

I wish I might a rose-bud grow
And thou wouldst cull me from the bower.
To place read more

I wish I might a rose-bud grow
And thou wouldst cull me from the bower.
To place me on that breast of snow
Where I should bloom a wintry flower.

The full-blown rose, mid dewy sweets
Most perfect dies.

The full-blown rose, mid dewy sweets
Most perfect dies.

He that plants thorns must never expect to gather roses.

He that plants thorns must never expect to gather roses.

Let us crown ourselves with rosebuds before they wither.

Let us crown ourselves with rosebuds before they wither.