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Famous Short Rose Poems

Famous Short Rose Poems. Short Rose Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best Rose short poems

Other Short Poem Pages

More great short poems below.

Rose | Short Famous Poems and Poets

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by Emily Dickinson

Partake as doth the Bee

 Partake as doth the Bee,
Abstemiously.
The Rose is an Estate -- In Sicily.


by Ambrose Bierce

Piety

 The pig is taught by sermons and epistles
To think the God of Swine has snout and bristles.


by Ezra Pound

Tsai Chih

 The petals fall in the fountain, 
the orange-coloured rose-leaves, 
Their ochre clings to the stone.


by Emily Dickinson

Artists wrestled here!

 Artists wrestled here!
Lo, a tint Cashmere!
Lo, a Rose!
Student of the Year!
For the easel here
Say Repose!


by Emily Dickinson

She rose as high as His Occasion

 She rose as high as His Occasion
Then sought the Dust --
And lower lay in low Westminster
For Her brief Crest --


by Ambrose Bierce

With a Book

 Words shouting, singing, smiling, frowning--
Sense lacking.
Ah, nothing, more obscure than Browning, Save blacking.


by Ogura Hyakunin Isshu

Abe no Nakamaro

When I look abroad
O'er the wide-stretched "Plain of Heaven,"
Is the moon the same
That on Mount Mikasa rose,
In the land of Kasuga?


by Matthew Prior

A True Maid

 No, no; for my virginity,
When I lose that, says Rose, I'll die:
Behind the elms last night, cried Dick,
Rose, were you not extremely sick?


by Emily Dickinson

A sepal petal and a thorn

 A sepal, petal, and a thorn
Upon a common summer's morn --
A flask of Dew -- A Bee or two --
A Breeze -- a caper in the trees --
And I'm a Rose!


by Robert Louis Stevenson

The Angler Rose He Took His Rod

 THE angler rose, he took his rod,
He kneeled and made his prayers to God.
The living God sat overhead: The angler tripped, the eels were fed


by Edward Lear

Rr Rosy

R

r

Rosy, Posy, Nosy, Rosy, Blows-y, grows-y, Little rose!


by Odysseus Elytis

From Maria Nephele 1979.

If you are of the Atreides go
elsewhere to shout aloud.
Such fire doesn't kindle the sun here where conscience rose and took on a maiden's real body.


by Ezra Pound

The Encounter

 All the while they were talking the new morality
Her eyes explored me.
And when I rose to go Her fingers were like the tissue Of a Japanese paper napkin.


by Ambrose Bierce

Alone

 In contact, lo! the flint and steel,
By sharp and flame, the thought reveal
That he the metal, she the stone,
Had cherished secretly alone.
Booley Fito.


by Ambrose Bierce

An Inscription

 A conqueror as provident as brave,
He robbed the cradle to supply the grave.
His reign laid quantities of human dust: He fell upon the just and the unjust.


by Ambrose Bierce

Elegy

 The cur foretells the knell of parting day;
The loafing herd winds slowly o'er the lea;
The wise man homewards plods; I only stay
To fiddle-faddle in a minor key.


by Amy Levy

Youth and Love

 What does youth know of love?
Little enough, I trow!
He plucks the myrtle for his brow,
For his forehead the rose.
Nay, but of love It is not youth who knows.


by William Blake

The Lilly

 The modest Rose puts forth a thorn:
The humble Sheep.
a threatning horn: While the Lily white, shall in Love delight, Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright


by Emily Dickinson

Lethe in my flower

 "Lethe" in my flower,
Of which they who drink
In the fadeless orchards
Hear the bobolink!

Merely flake or petal
As the Eye beholds
Jupiter! my father!
I perceive the rose!


by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi

A Stone I died

~

A stone I died and rose again a plant; A plant I died and rose an animal; I died an animal and was born a man.
Why should I fear? What have I lost by death?


by Omar Khayyam

Irám indeed is gone

Irám indeed is gone with all its Rose,
And Jamshýd’s Sev’n-ring’d Cup where no one knows:
But still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields,
And still a Garden by the Water blows.


by Omar Khayyam

And David’s Lips are lockt

And David’s Lips are lockt; but in divine
High-piping Péhlevi, with “Wine! Wine! Wine!
Red Wine!”—the Nightingale cries to the Rose
That yellow Cheek of hers to incarnadine.


by William Blake

The Sick Rose

 O Rose thou art sick.
The invisible worm.
That flies in the night In the howling storm: Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy: And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy.


by Emily Dickinson

Her spirit rose to such a height

 Her spirit rose to such a height
Her countenance it did inflate
Like one that fed on awe.
More prudent to assault the dawn Than merit the ethereal scorn That effervesced from her.


by Li Po

Self-Abandonment

 I sat srinking and did not notice the dusk,
Till falling petals filled the folds of my dress.
Drunken I rose and walked to the moonlit stream; The birds were gone, and men also few.


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