"The Last Rose of Summer"
by Thomas Moore (1779-1852
'Tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone.
No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh.
I'll not leave thee, thou lone one,
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep thou with them.
Thus kindly I scatter
Thy leaves o'er the bed,
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.
So soon may I follow,
When friendships decay,
And from Love's shining circle
The gems drop away!
When true hearts lie withered
And fond ones are flown,
Oh! who would inhabit
This bleak world alone?
***
'tis the last rose of summer
Left alone blooming,
All her beautiful companions
Are withered and gone.
Not a flower of her kin,
No rosebud is near,
To echo her blush,
And give sigh for sigh,
Shall not leave you alone,
To languish on the stem;
As the beautiful sleep,
Go sleep there with them.
So kindly I scatter
Your leaves on the bed,
Where your companions of the garden
Lying odourless and dead.
So soon may I follow,
When friendships perish,
And from the radiant circle of love
The jewels fall away.
When true hearts wither,
And loved ones have flown,
Oh! who would
This gloomy world alone want to inhabit."
Moore.
The love of nature seems to be deep in my genes, possibly thanks to my birth in Siberia, a land of boundless beauty and diversity. My fascination with people led me to pursue a career as a professional portrait painter and photographer. Extensive classical art training at two.. Read more…