Explore "A Song of Roses" by Virna Sheard on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
'Tis time to sing of roses: of roses all ablow, / To every vagrant passing breeze they dip a courtesy low, / 'Tis time to sing of roses! for June is here, you know.
One song for true love's roses of sweetest deepest red, / Some heart will wear you faithfully when life itself hath fled, / And for the white rose sing a song -- the white rose for the dead.
And ah! the yellow roses, of brightest, lightest gold, / King Midas must have touched their leaves in mystic days of old, / Or they were made of sunshine, and gilded, fold by fold.
And the roadside rose, sweet-briar, we would remember thee / And the cinnamon rose that evermore enthralls each passing bee, / You old, old-fashioned roses, a-growing wild and free.
'Tis time to sing of roses! of roses all ablow! / They come again, as sweet, my dear, as those of long ago. / 'Tis time to sing of roses! for June is here you know.