It feels like its Autumn holidays already.
I can smell the winter breeze.
I can smell the fear in me.
I foresee the victory of good over bad,but who stands where is yet a trail to be passed...
Is it the end of summers ? or it just my fever that keeps my body hot but my surroundings cold.
Or is it just the coldness of the situation?
'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,
To give sigh for sigh.
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
To 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.
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,
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? '
When friendships decay,
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? '
-THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER by THOMAS MOORE
Thomas Moore was an Irish poet, singer, songwriter and entertainer.
Moore's writings range from lyric to satire, from prose romance to history and biography. His popular Irish Melodies appeared in ten parts between 1807 and 1835.
(Painting by Robert McGinnis)
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