Rose were sette of swete savour,
With many roses that thei bere.

Rose were sette of swete savour,
With many roses that thei bere.

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

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

There is no gathering the rose without being pricked by the
thorns.

There is no gathering the rose without being pricked by the
thorns.

All June I bound the rose in sheaves,
Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves.

All June I bound the rose in sheaves,
Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves.

A white rosebud for a guerdon.

A white rosebud for a guerdon.

I am not the rose, but I have lived near the rose.
[Fr., Je ne suis pas la rose, read more

I am not the rose, but I have lived near the rose.
[Fr., Je ne suis pas la rose, mais j'ai vecu pres d'elle.]

O rose, who dares to name thee?
No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet,
But pale, read more

O rose, who dares to name thee?
No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet,
But pale, and hard, and dry, as stubblewheat,--
Kept seven years in a drawer, thy titles shame thee.

"For if I wait," said she,
"Till time for roses be,--
For the moss-rose and the musk-rose,
read more

"For if I wait," said she,
"Till time for roses be,--
For the moss-rose and the musk-rose,
Maiden-blush and royal-dusk rose,--
"What glory then for me
In such a company?--
Roses plenty, roses plenty
And one nightingale for twenty?"

'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.