Elena en la Playa, Biarritz, Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida (1906)
In my hand I hold a rose fully spent,
No more memories of its pleasant scent.
Each petal picked I toss into the sea,
But to have a wave return them to me.
They now cluster in the pure virgin sand,
Making me think of when our love began.
Many roses glowing in the sunshine.
You cut a soft one saying it was mine.
Its velvety feeling I held so close,
Reacting to one of Cupid’s arrows.
Giving thanks to you with a longing kiss,
Now all that I can do is reminisce.
There is a change in the cool autumn air,
The wind captures the petals as I stare.
Our summer love has now gone astray,
But for a while in my heart you will stay.
Two pink Prince de-Bulgarie roses, Frans Mortelmans (n.d))
Beautiful as Any Rose
This joyous month of June and here thou art,
The most beautiful of those before me.
Chivalry is my approach from the start,
As before I’ve been taken to my knee.
Your beauty excels beyond all others,
Yet thorny can thy disposition be,
Forcing some to invoking their druthers.
That will not however be true of me.
Study thee have I from both near and far,
As well as history and pedigree,
To avoid a fearful motive to spar,
For my wish is to hold you breathlessly.
With two hands I caress thee ev’r softly,
Looking upward, dreaming of us warmly.
Image manipulated by author
Rose in the Snow
Autumn leaves are now easily scattered,
Running here and there seeking safe cover,
Away from a wind visibly angered.
Is there nowhere to avoid its bluster?
The red rose shows courage standing her ground,
Not yielding an inch as the vexed wind swirled,
In its effort her colors to impound.
As a taunt bright red color she unfurled.
Then ever vengeful wind throws ice of white,
Pummeling her through the darkness of night.
Each passing hour she continues to fight,
Her red color remains at sun’s first light.
Though winning the battle the end is near,
But rose in the snow shall return next year.
The Sleeping Man, Carolus Duran (1861)
Dreaming Man, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
The warm dusk embraced them, they dine and dance
Soon darkness took them under her soft wing
Strolling hand in hand, the start of romance
In the other’s loving smile was basking
Neither to be the first to say good night
Both know their evening has come to an end
They were only one step from out of sight
A red rose to him did she quickly send
He breathed in the rose then gave it a kiss
Studying its petals he’s in a trance
Now fully in the loving state of bliss
With heavy eyes gave the rose one last glance
She is the only one he will adore
His dream ruined by a knock on the door
Choosing, George Frederic Watts (c. 1864)
Tender Age, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
My dearest friend with thou beautiful scent
Surround my body so I find safety
From my great fear of mental punishment
Please think not this to be a foolish plea
But a child with such a limited view
Thinking life be like my part on the stage
To discover life’s dreams not to be true
Real is what I feel, internal rage
Sheltered within thy vine with many thorns
Can be shielded from a touch that I scorn
Thou now can protect this young heart that mourns
Today wishing that I had not been born
Can there be love at such a tender age
Or is it to be acted on the stage