So, in the passing of a day, doth pass
The bud and blossom of the life of man
Torquato Tasso (1544–1595), Jerusalem Delivered (Gerusalemme Liberata), Verses XIV & XV, Canto 16, translated by Edward Fairfax (1560–1635)
Rosa indica vulgaris by Pierre-Joseph Redouté (1759ꟷ1840)
No April can revive thy wither’d flowers,
Whose blooming grace adorns thy beauty now
Samuel Daniel (1562–1619), Poem 31 from Delia (1592 version)
O my luve’s like a red, red rose,
That’s newly sprung in June:
O my luve’s like the melodie,
That’s sweetly played in tune.
Robert Burns (1759–1796), A Red, Red Rose
Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest,
And on her silver cross soft amethyst,
And on her hair a glory, like a saint:
She seem’d a splendid angel, newly drest
John Keats (1795–1821), from The Eve of St Agnes (XXV)
It was not in the Winter
Our loving lot was cast;
It was the time of roses—
We pluck’d them as we pass’d!
Thomas Hood (1798–1845), Ballad: Time of Roses
The rose-lipt girls are sleeping
In fields where roses fade.
Alfred Edward Housman (1859–1936), from A Shropshire Lad (LIV)
All things uncomely and broken, all things worn out and old, (...)
Are wronging your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.
William Butler Yeats (1865–1939), The Lover Tells Of the Rose In His Heart
They are not long, the days of wine and roses
Ernest Dowson (1867–1900), Vitae Summa Brevis