"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."
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."
"He came and took me by the hand, Up to a red rose tree, He kept His meaning to Himself, But gave a rose to me. I did not pray Him to lay bare The mystery to me, Enough the rose was Heaven to smell, And His own face to see."
"It was not in the winter Our loving lot was cast: It was the time of roses We pluckd them as we passd."
"While rose-buds scarcely showd their hue, But coyly lingerd on the thorn."
"How fair is the Rose! what a beautiful flower. The glory of April and May! But the leaves are beginning to fade in an hour, And they wither and die in a day. Yet the Rose has one powerful virtue to boast, Above all the flowers of the field; When its leaves are all dead, and fine colours are lost, Still how sweet a perfume it will yield!"
"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."