He folded his fear into a perfect rose. He held it out in the palm of his hand. She took it from him and put it in her hair.

...love lies hidden in every rose...

The heart is a fist. It pockets prayer or holds rage.

She wore life as a rose in her bosom.

Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose.

She has lived and loved! There is no folded petal, no latent dewdrop, in this perfectly developed rose!

"If you hold a rose up before a man and he shuts his eyes tight and just holds out his hands and says "Here, I am ready to be persuaded; convince me by touch that your rose is red;" then you are helpless."

I HIDE myself within my flower
That wearing on your breast,
You, unsuspecting, wear me too — And angels know the rest.

I hide myself within my flower,
That, fading from your vase,
You, unsuspecting, feel for me
Almost a loneliness...

And she was mine, she was mine, the key was in my fist, my fist was in my pocket, she was mine.

In joined hands there is still some token of hope, in the clinched fist none.

The rose has told
In one simplicity
That never life
Relinquishes a bloom
But to bestow
An ancient confidence.

One rose, a rose to gather by and by,
One rose, a rose, to gather and to wear,
No rose but one — what other rose had I?
One rose, my rose; a rose that will not die,

we wouldn't ask why a rose with damaged petals

The rose's rarest essence lives in the thorns.