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

Rose, oh pure contradiction, joy
of being No-one's sleep under so many
lids.

"Niagara! wonder of this western world, And half the world beside! hail, beauteous queen Of cataracts!" An angel who had been O'er heaven and earth, spoke thus, his bright wings furled, And knelt to Nature first, on the wild cliff unseen.

Fragrant o'er all the western groves The tall magnolia towers unshaded.

We the roses...

'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.