Queen of July: Poets and Writers in Praise of the Rose

July 5, 2020

Today’s garden is ruled by the undisputed queen of July—the Rose.

She reigns with quiet majesty in every border and trellis, perfuming the air with her subtle power.

Whether rambling over a gate or blooming in a solitary pot, the Rose commands affection and reverence in equal measure.

Every poet who has ever paused beneath her brier seems to find language softening into hymn.

Andrew Marvell, ever the thoughtful observer, conjures a small paradise that, though carefully cultivated, has surrendered to wild abundance:

I have a garden of my own
But so with Roses overgrown
And Lilies, that you would it guess
To be a little wilderness.
— Andrew Marvell, English poet and politician

What gardener does not know this feeling—the joy of losing order to beauty?

When the roses take over, we stop fighting their exuberance. The wilderness becomes magnificent, and we gladly let it rule.

From romantic excess to personal devotion, Wilkie Collins confesses a lifelong affection for the flower that bloomed at both his beginning and hoped-for end:

I haven't much time to be fond of anything ... but when I have a moment's fondness to bestow most times ... the Roses get it.

I began my life among them in my father's nursery garden, and I shall end my life among them, if I can.

Yes.

One of these days (please God) I shall retire from catching thieves, and try my hand at growing Roses.
— Wilkie Collins, English novelist, The Moonstone

It’s a sentiment that every weary soul in July can share.

To end one’s days among roses is to choose gentleness after striving, peace after pursuit. Their quiet constancy feels like a well-earned reward.

Rachel Peden, writing generations later, offers a more meditative reflection on the Rose as philosopher—a moral teacher dressed in pink:

The serene philosophy of the pink Rose is steadying. Its fragrant, delicate petals open fully and are ready to fall, without regret or disillusion, after only a day in the sun. It is so every summer.

One can almost hear their pink, fragrant murmur as they settle down upon the grass: 'Summer, summer, it will always be summer.'
— Rachel Peden, newspaper columnist

There is wisdom here for every gardener.

Roses teach the art of letting go with grace—blooming brilliantly, then falling freely, confident that beauty will come again.

Frances Hodgson Burnett, whose novel The Secret Garden taught generations how to nurture both soil and soul, gives us this plain but perfect truth:

Where you tend a Rose, my lad, a Thistle cannot grow.
— Frances Hodgson Burnett, English-American novelist, The Secret Garden

It is both literal and symbolic: cultivate kindness, and weeds cannot thrive.

The garden, much like the heart, blooms according to what we choose to nurture.

Then from across the sea, José Martí offers his elegant expression of compassion through the image of a white rose—one that blooms in every season:

I have a White Rose to tend
In July as in January;
I give it to the true friend
Who offers his frank hand to me.
And for the cruel one whose blows
Break the heart by which I live,
Thistle nor thorn do I give:
For him, too, I have a White Rose.
— José Martí, Cuban poet, A White Rose

So simple, and yet it stands as a code of the soul: respond to the world, even its cruelty, with grace.

Let goodness bloom like the rose—constantly, courageously, without condition.

And finally, Christina Rossetti crowns our bouquet with one of the most radiant portraits ever penned of the Rose’s majesty and mystery:

The Lily has a smooth stalk,
Will never hurt your hand;
But the Rose upon her brier
Is lady of the land.
There's sweetness in an Apple Tree,
And profit in the Corn;
But lady of all beauty
Is a Rose upon a thorn.
When with moss and honey
She tips her bending brier,
And half unfolds her glowing heart,
She sets the world on fire.
— Christina Georgina Rossetti, English poet, The Rose

Rossetti reminds us that elegance is not always gentle.

The Rose is beauty edged with danger, passion sweetened by pain.

She is both muse and monarch, capable of setting the world aflame with a single bloom.

So here’s to July’s sovereign flower—the keeper of scent, color, memory, and meaning.

In every garden she reigns, reminding us that beauty is strongest where it dares to bloom among thorns.