THIS bouquet of scented blossoms

I have plucked from that garden,

And have called it " The Secret Rose Garden."

In it are blooming

Roses of the mysteries of the heart

Untold before ;

In it the tongues of the lilies are all singing,

And the eyes of the narcissus behold all, far and

near.

Gaze on each one of these with your heart's eyes
Till your doubts melt away.
You will see tradition, earthly and mystical

truths,

All arranged clearly in knowledge of detail.
Do not seek with cold eyes to find blemishes,
Or the roses will turn to thorns as you gaze.
Ingratitude is a sign of ignorance,
For those who know the truth are thankful.
When you remember me, breathe " Mercy be

upon him."

I am ending with my own name,
" Allah, grant me a ' Lauded ' end." *


SA'D UD DIN MAHMUD SHABISTARl

As the Brown Soil bears Fruit,
by the Warm Grace of the Sun...
The Flowers
Leaves
Her Beauty
Lying in the Dirt,
for the Brown Soil...
to Breathe.

The Majesty of perfection
is rooted in the ugly mask
of making it Whole.
Heartedly.

Never to Be Known....
is the Pure Beauty,
of Creation
as bestowed
Once.
Upon a Time.

Witness is the Gift.





Nite.

All round his garden Mahmûd has planted these roses of Reason, Belief, Knowledge, and Faith;
they are blooming everywhere, beautiful in their vivid colouring of Truth and Purity.
But it is in the centre that we find a Rose-tree of glory unequalled, glowing with the blossoms of love's devotion; this is the tree which Mahmûd planted with all his heart's adoration--the description of the perfect face of the Beloved.


It is at this spot we wait entranced, and through the mystic stillness we seem to hear the voice of him who, long ago for love's sake, planted this Rose-tree, echoing his sublime utterance:


"See but One, say but One, know but One."

the Secret Garden

Behind dark, twining ivy,
On an old, Victorian wall,
Where moths and small flies flutter,
And spiders weave and crawl,
There's a rusty lock that's hidden
In a peeling, old oak door –
They who find the key are bidden
To unlock a treasure store,
For behind those creaky hinges
Lies a garden of delights,
Only known to special people
Who appreciate such sights.
Once an ailing, sickly schoolboy
To whom life was only pain
Found the garden and its pleasures,
Helped him grow and thrive again.
A young woman walked unaided
Midst the sunshine and the flowers,
And a man, betrayed by heartache
Found true comfort in those bowers.
Seek the door, unlock its treasures,
For it's there for everyone
In that special, secret garden
Where the love goes on and on.
M. NASH

The Secret Garden


There is a light that shows me the way,

To a secret garden, with a fragrant bouquet,

And as I enter through its welcoming gates,

To savor all that for me awaits -

I can't help but wonder why the light chose me

Why fate gave me the Garden's key.

For whatever the reason, this much I know,

It is a lovely place where I love to go -

A garden full of life's delights -

Of tenderness and wondrous nights.



A garden in which to nourish my soul;

A place to go to make me whole

Where the warming light becons me stay

Where always it is Valentine's Day.


Time has shown me this simple truth,

That the light that shines from high above -

That leads me to this garden each day

Is the nurturing light of your infinite love.



Poem Recited by Ara John Movsesian

Lovely poem Solane. Thank you

THE MARRIAGE OF THE SOUL


DESCENDING to the earth,
That strange intoxicating beauty of the unseen world
Lurks in the elements of Nature.

And the soul of man,
Who has attained the rightful balance,
Becoming aware of this hidden joy,
Straightway is enamoured and bewitched.

And from this mystic marriage are born
The poets' songs, inner knowledge,
The language of the heart, virtuous living,
And the fair child Beauty.

And the Great Soul gives to man as dowry
The hidden glory of the world.


Sa'd ud Din Mahmud Shabistari

"If I had a flower for everytime I thought of you I could walk through my garden forever." ~ Alfred Lord Tennyson

And don't think the garden loses its ecstasy in winter. It's quiet, but the roots are down there riotous.
Jalal ad-Din Muhammad ( Rumi)

Can you find another market like this? Where, with your one rose, you can buy hundreds of rose gardens?
Rumi


And if you are a rose, I am rose-shadow.
Rumi

The Rose

A ROSE, as fair as ever saw the North,

Grew in a little garden all alone;

A sweeter flower did Nature ne'er put forth,

Nor fairer garden yet was never known:


The maidens danced about it morn and noon,

And learned bards of it their ditties made;

The nimble fairies by the pale-faced moon

Water'd the root and kiss'd her pretty shade.

But well-a-day!--the gardener careless grew;

The maids and fairies both were kept away,

And in a drought the caterpillars threw

Themselves upon the bud and every spray.

God shield the stock! If heaven send no supplies,

The fairest blossom of the garden dies.

William Browne*

“People where you live," the little prince said, "grow five thousand roses in one garden... yet they don't find what they're looking for...
They don't find it," I answered.
And yet what they're looking for could be found in a single rose, or a little water..."
Of course," I answered.
And the little prince added, "But eyes are blind. You have to look with the heart.”
~ Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince ~

I really liked that rose poem above that you posted Venus. Says sooo much in so few words.

Thank-You


BE-auti-FULL

Indeed, a lovely reminder of a timeless story and one of Lindas favorite books!!

I did not know that interesting tid-bit about that being Linda's favorite books, Juni. Thanks so much for sharing that.

God's Garden


THE Lord God planted a garden
In the first white days of the world,
And He set there an angel warden
In a garment of light enfurled.

So near to the peace of Heaven,
That the hawk might nest with the wren,
For there in the cool of the even
God walked with the first of men.

And I dream that these garden closes
With their shade and their sun-flecked sod
And their lilies and bowers of roses,
Were laid by the hand of God.

The kiss of the sun for pardon,
The song of the birds for mirth, –
One is nearer God's heart in a garden
Than anywhere else on earth.

For He broke it for us in a garden
Under the olive-trees
Where the angel of strength was the warden
And the soul of the world found ease.

Dorothy Frances Gurney (1858-1932)

An Armor of Roses


Wood is a symbol for absence;
Fire, for your love of God.
We burn form to warm the soul.
Soul loves winter for that, and accepts
Reluctantly the comfort of spring with its
Elegant proliferation of gifts,
All part of the plan: fire becoming
garden soil becoming mint, willow,
and tulip. Love looks like fire.
Feed yourself into it. Be the fireplace
and the wood. Bravo, for this metallurgy
that makes a needle from an iron ingot.
Calm fire now: for the moth a window;
For you, an armor of roses!

Jalal ad-Din Muhammad ( Rumi)

Every time I see this thread, Juni, I am reminded of that song by Robert Burns:

My love is like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June
My love is like a melody
So sweetly played in tune

As fair art thou my bonnie lass
So deep in love am I
And I would love thee still my dear
Though all the seas gone dry

Though all the seas gone dry my dear
And the rocks melt with the sun
I would love thee still my dear
Though the sands of time may run

So fare thee well my bonnie lass
And fare thee well awhile
And I would come to you again
Though we were ten thousand miles

(The Eva Cassidy version)

Venus, that song touchs my soul and stirs some of the fondest memories of my childhood.

My Grandpa was an old Scotchish MI born lumberjack. A hulking man with the softest touch on his fiddle and in singing the old tunes of his home Country.
We would get lost in the music until Granny came banging on her kettle telling this lass to scoot home and help mom with the evening meal.
She called him the Old Gentleman, never by his name

Thanks for sharing your beautiful memories of your wonderful Scotish grandfather with us dear Juni. Now I understand why I kept hearing that song in my head everytime I saw your lovely thread.

And now I'd like to share The Novena Rose Prayer I came across today that made me think of this thread.

O Little Therese of the Child Jesus
Please pick for me a rose
from the heavenly gardens
... and send it to me
as a message of love.

O Little Flower of Jesus,
ask God to grant the favors
I now place with confidence
in your hands

St. Therese, help to always believe
as you did
in God's great love for me,
so that I may imitate
your "Little Way" each day.

Amen

Venus, that is breatakingly beautiful

I will add a Prayer for 2012:

"Father, from Thy Hand we have been given the world as a garden.

Teach us to live day by day that we may at all times

Show our love for thee by the way we cultivate

The Holy Garden of Life."


Friendship:


Life is a garden,

Good friends are the flowers

And time spent together

Life's happiest hours...

And friendship like flowers,

Blooms ever more fair

When carefully tended

By dear friends who care.


Helen Steiner Rice

nice garden

The Garden of Tender Care


The garden is filled

With the love-notes of God.

The patron saints of the bedraggled

Lie low under the bushes

Side by side with those

Of the bent-backed and the displaced.

So many messages are hidden here

About living and dying,

About beauty and care

About growth and resilience.

This garden of earth

Bears but a faint imprest

Of the riches that

Lie ahead for us,

In the Garden of Tender Care.

JUST COMING IN TO WATER THE GARDEN !! !!

Tis of interest to me
How Love is associated with The Rose and The Heart.
The Red of Blood
The Life Force we sustain while Living.
The need for such Passionate Color on the canvas of our Lives.
All delicately unfolded in such soft petals
and woven intrinsically with the membrin of Flesh.

The Rose of The Cross.
The Sacred Heart.
Eternal Symbols veiled in a Mysterious Union.
Simple complexity
of our Earthly emOceans
running Deep
Beating Still
until the last Petal falls
and our Breathe exhales
One last Time.

How Passionate is the Red of Love?
So Vital in our Statistic of Living?

Let it Bleed.





"Love Is A Rose"

Love is a rose
but you better not pick it
It only grows when it's on the vine.
A handful of thorns and
you'll know you've missed it
You lose your love
when you say the word "mine".

I wanna see what's never been seen,
I wanna live that age old dream.
Come on, lads, we can go together
Let's take the best right now,
Take the best right now.

I wanna go to an old hoe-down
Long ago in a western town.
Pick me up cause my feet are draggin'
Give me a lift and I'll hay your wagon.

Love is a rose
but you better not pick it
It only grows when it's on the vine.
A handful of thorns and
you'll know you've missed it
You lose your love
when you say the word "mine".
Mine, mine.

Love is a rose, love is a rose.
Love is a rose, love is a rose.

Chahles, I have Faith the Heart and Rose are one.

Secret Garden



Fresh morning dew, still dripping from the rose,
the blue birds sing their wishful, songs of hopes.
My garden has still breath - it alone knows,
the secrets that are bound with grassy ropes.
Pure love is endless – the bird’s sing of truth,
sweet blossoms bow so humbly, to their voice.
They rest in old age and then dance in youth,
blameless and pure of heart - they all rejoice.
They're out of sight - hidden - like precious gems,
the rainbows do yield, while all time transcends.
The roses stand tall on their thorny stems,
as giving thanks, to their fair feathered friends.

My secret garden cast your spell in mist.
Mark down your truths on an unending list.
FifthDove allpoetry.com

With thee, my love, hell itself were heaven.
With thee a prison would be a rose-garden.
With thee hell would be a mansion of delight,
Without thee lilies and roses would be as flames of fire!
Jelaluddin, Rumi


I will soothe you and heal you.
I will bring you roses. I too have been covered with thorns.
Jelaluddin, Rumi

When the rose is gone and the garden faded
you will no longer hear the nightingale's song.
The Beloved is all; the lover just a veil.
The Beloved is living; the lover a dead thing.
If love withholds its strengthening care,
the lover is left like a bird without care,
the lover is left like a bird without wings.
How will I be awake and aware
if the light of the Beloved is absent?
Jelaluddin, Rumi

Ghost of a Rose


The valley green was so serene
In the middle ran a stream so blue...

A maiden fair, in despair, once had met her true love there and she told him...


She would say...


"Promise me , when you see, a white rose you'll think of me
I love you so,
Never let go,
I will be your ghost of a rose..."


Her eyes believed in mysteries
She would lay amongst the leaves of amber
Her spirit wild, heart of a child, yet gentle still and quiet and mild and he loved her...

When she would say...


"Promise me , when you see, a white rose you'll think of me
I love you so,
Never let go,
I will be your ghost of a rose..."


When all was done, she turned to run
Dancing to the setting sun as he watched her
And ever more he thought he saw
A glimpse of her upon the moors forever
He'd hear her say...


"Promise me , when you see, a white rose you'll think of me
I love you so,
Never let go,
I will be your ghost of a rose..."

The Secret Rose



FAR-OFF, most secret, and inviolate Rose,
Enfold me in my hour of hours; where those
Who sought thee in the Holy Sepulchre,
Or in the wine-vat, dwell beyond the stir
And tumult of defeated dreams; and deep
Among pale eyelids, heavy with the sleep
Men have named beauty. Thy great leaves enfold
The ancient beards, the helms of ruby and gold
Of the crowned Magi; and the king whose eyes
Saw the pierced Hands and Rood of elder rise
In Druid vapour and make the torches dim;
Till vain frenzy awoke and he died; and him
Who met Fand walking among flaming dew
By a grey shore where the wind never blew,
And lost the world and Emer for a kiss;
And him who drove the gods out of their liss,
And till a hundred morns had flowered red
Feasted, and wept the barrows of his dead;
And the proud dreaming king who flung the crown
And sorrow away, and calling bard and clown
Dwelt among wine-stained wanderers in deep woods:
And him who sold tillage, and house, and goods,
And sought through lands and islands numberless years,
Until he found, with laughter and with tears,
A woman of so shining loveliness
That men threshed corn at midnight by a tress,
A little stolen tress. I, too, await
The hour of thy great wind of love and hate.
When shall the stars be blown about the sky,
Like the sparks blown out of a smithy, and die?
Surely thine hour has come, thy great wind blows,
Far-off, most secret, and inviolate Rose?


William Butler Yeats

Silence
You are the diamond in me
the Jewel of my real wealth!
From your soft earth
grow thousands
of rose gardens
whose perfumes
drown me
in my heart.

Jelaluddin, Rumi





There comes a holy
and transparent time
when every touch
of beauty
opens the heart
to tears.
This is the time
the Beloved of heaven
is brought tenderly on earth.
This is the time
of the opening
of the Rose.


Jelaluddin, Rumi

A White Rose

The red rose whispers of passion,
And the white rose breathes of love;
O, the red rose is a falcon,
And the white rose is a dove.
But I send you a cream-white rosebud
With a flush on its petal tips;
For the love that is purest and sweetest
Has a kiss of desire on the lips.

- J B O'Reilly (1844-1890) -

O Flower!

© Sarthi

O flower! Attired in pure natural innocence,
Thou are ignorant of thy enchanting aroma,
Unaware of thy Charm,
Dances freely with flirtious breeze,
Hardly cares about world’s joy and sorrow,
Thou are neither selfish nor altruistic
Full of Self yet so Selfless!

I am fascinated by your tranquil disposition,
At dawn thou bath in sun’s rays,
Flirt with colorful butterfly,
Fall a deep sleep in afternoon warmth.
Enjoy melodious sound of chirping birds

Thou lover, up there - the sky,
Gazes you with intense admiration,
He kisses you tenderly through his winds,
Thou spread thy fragrances in his arms,
He grows enamored of thy presence,
What a beautiful bond!

Thy fall comes – autumn arrives,
Still thou remain full of life as ever before,
Not worried; not shaken a bit
Simply falls, without uttering a
Single word to your lover to save you
from getting withered.

Thou unconditional acceptance is captivating,
O soft hearted beauty, thy passive life is
Exquisite treasure of green emotions.


Source: O Flower!, Flower Poem http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/o-flower#ixzz1r1Ouf1i8
www.FamilyFriendPoems.com

I Too Have Been Covered With Thorns


I am your moon and your moonlight too
I am your flower garden and your water too.
I have come all this way eager for you,
without shoes or shawl.
I want you to laugh, to kill all your worries, to love you, to nourish you.
Oh sweet bitterness, I will soothe you and heal you.
I will bring you roses. I too have been covered with thorns.

Jalal ad-Din Muhammad ( Rumi)

The Unfoldment of the Soul Hezrat Inayat Khan

How can one define the unfoldment of the soul? The soul can be likened to the rose ; as a rosebud blooms, so the soul unfolds itself. For the rosebud to bloom five conditions are required: fertile soil, bright sun, water, air, and space; and the same five things are required for the unfoldment of the soul. As a fertile soil is required by the rose-bush in order to grow, so education in the spiritual ideal should be given to the child from the moment it is born. When a child is deprived of that most important education in its childhood, then the soil is taken away from the roots of the rose . I can recall having met so many people who had every possibility and tendency to become interested in all that is spiritual and lofty, but who at the same time were afraid of the terminology in which it is expressed. What does this show? It shows that in childhood something was denied them, and now that they have grown up, although they feel a desire for it, although they want it, when they look at it in a form they are not accustomed to they are afraid of it.

to be cont.

source: http://wahiduddin.net/mv2/VIIIa/VIIIa_4_7.htm

The water that nourishes the rose is the love element. If that element is absent from anyone's life, however great his intellectual knowledge and his desire to seek after truth, he will still remain backward. Unfortunately this element often seems to be missing in cultural life. A learned man will say that it has no place in the world of reason, and thus he separates the outer learning from the religious ideal which is called the love of God.

What is it that takes the part of the sun in the life of man, as the sun takes part in the growing of the rose ? It is intelligence. Everyone may not seem to be intelligent, but the soul itself is intelligence. When the intelligence is covered by the mist of impressions, of ideas of this earth, that intelligence becomes drowned in something, buried under something. When it is discovered, then it is as bright as the sun . The mission of Buddha was mainly intended for this purpose. All that Buddha wished to teach his disciples was to discover that pure intelligence which is above all reasoning and which is the essence of all reason.

The place that air occupies in the growth of the soul is this: air is symbolical of the Inspiration which comes to the heart that is prepared for it. And it is not by outward learning but by what one learns through Inspiration that the soul is raised towards its unfoldment.

The space which is needed around the rose-bush in order to let it grow, means symbolically a wide outlook on life. A person may live a hundred years, but with a narrow outlook he will never see the light. In order to see life clearly the outlook should be wide. There is much to fight with in life, in order to keep our outlook wide, for the nature of our life in the world is such that it drags us down and places us in conditions where we cannot but be narrow. A great person is not great because of his merits, his qualities or reputation; the surest proof that a person can give of his greatness is his vast outlook. And it is wonderful to notice how, even unconsciously, people who have arrived at that stage, in whatever walk of life, automatically begin to show a vast outlook on life. What manures this plant and makes roses bloom is, symbolically, the Teaching given by the great Masters of Humanity.

How can one recognize this development of the soul in which the purpose of life is fulfilled? What are its indications, its signs? The soul becomes like a rose , and begins to show the rose quality. Just as the rose consists of many petals held together, so the person who attains to the unfoldment of the soul begins to show many different qualities. These qualities emit fragrance in the form of a spiritual personality. The rose has a beautiful structure, and the personality which proves the unfoldment of the soul has also a fine structure: in manner, in dealing with others, in speech, in action. The atmosphere of the spiritual being pervades the air like the perfume of the rose .

The rose has seeds in its heart, and so the developed souls have in their heart that seed of development which produces many roses . The rose blooms and fades away, but the essence that is taken from the rose lives and keeps the fragrance that the rose had in its full bloom. Personalities who touch that plane of consciousness may live for a limited time on the earth, but the essence which is left by them will live for thousands and thousands of years, always keeping the same fragrance and giving the same pleasure that the rose once gave.

Hazrat Inayat Khan


http://wahiduddin.net/mv2/VIIIa/VIIIa_4_7.htm

IN THE ARC OF YOUR MALLET

Don’t go anywhere without me.
Let nothing happen in the sky apart from me,
or on the ground, in this world or that world,
without my being in its happening.
Vision, see nothing I don’t see.
Language, say nothing.
The way the night knows itself with the moon,
be that with me. Be the rose
nearest to the thorn that I am.

I want to feel myself in you when you taste food,
in the arc of your mallet when you work,
when you visit friends, when you go
up on the roof by yourself at night.

There’s nothing worse than to walk out along the street
without you. I don’t know where I’m going.
You’re the road and the knower of roads,
more than maps, more than love.



Jalal ad-Din Muhammad ( Rumi)

sigh.

beautiful.