"Every rose has its thorn Just like every night has its dawn Just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song. Every rose has its thorn."
A rose is either a woody perennial flowering plant of the genus Rosa, in the family Rosaceae, or the flower it bears. There are over three hundred species and tens of thousands of cultivars. The plants range in size and form, from trailing and erect shrubs to climbers up to 7 metres (23 ft) in height. Sharp prickles appear on the stems of many species. Their flowers vary in size and shape and are
"In the mean time, Emily sat picking to pieces a rosebud, from the first deep crimson leaf to the delicate pink inside. Oh! that organ of destructiveness! She had gathered it only an hour ago—a single solitary flower, where the shrubbery had run into too luxuriant a vegetation for much bloom—the very Una of roses among the green leaves, "Making a sunshine in the shady place;" and now she was destroying it."
"It never will rain roses: when we want To have more roses we must plant more trees."
"Oh, raise your deep-fringed lids that close To wrap you in some sweet dreams thrall; I am the spectre of the rose You wore but last night at the ball."
"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."
"While rose-buds scarcely showd their hue, But coyly lingerd on the thorn."
"It was not in the winter Our loving lot was cast: It was the time of roses We pluckd them as we passd."