A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
Oh, my Luve is like a red, red rose,
That’s newly sprung in June.
Robert Burns, Posthumous Pieces
But ne’er the rose without the thorn.
Robert Herrick, The Rose.
When love came first to earth, the Spring
Spread rose-beds to receive him.
Thomas Campbell, When Love Came First to Earth
Wild-rose, Sweetbriar, Eglantine,
All these pretty names are mine,
And scent in every leaf is mine,
And a leaf for all is mine,
And the scent—Oh, that’s divine!
Happy-sweet and pungent fine,
Pure as dew, and pick’d as wine.
Leigh Hunt, Songs and Chorus of the Flowers, Sweetbriar.
And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies.
Christopher Marlowe, The Passionate Shepherd to his Love
A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose.
Gertrude Stein, “Sacred Emily”
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, Ballad, It Was not in the Winter.
What would the rose with all her pride be worth,
Were there no sun to call her brightness forth?
Thomas Moore, Love Alone.
And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies.
Christopher Marlowe, The Passionate Shepherd to his Love
‘Twas a yellow rose,
By that south window of the little house,
My cousin Romney gathered with his hand
Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Aurora Leigh
Rose! thou art the sweetest flower,
That ever drank the amber shower;
Rose! thou art the fondest child
Of dimpled Spring, the wood-nymph wild.
Thomas Moore, Odes of Anacreon