The Last Rose of Summer
This is a scan of the last rose to bloom in our Kitsilano, BC garden. I scanned it today. It will not open further but the strong fruity smell of this English Rose, Rosa ‘Abraham Darby’ is in evidence as it says goodbye to me. It will bloom again next spring and I hope (you never know) that I will be around to greet it.
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?
“The Last Rose of Summer” is a poem by the Irish poet Thomas Moore. He wrote it in 1805, while staying at Jenkinstown Park in County Kilkenny, Ireland, where he was said to have been inspired by a specimen of Rosa ‘Old Blush’ The poem is set to a traditional tune called “Aislean an Oigfear”, or “The Young Man’s Dream”, which was transcribed by Edward Bunting in 1792, based on a performance by harper Denis Hempson (Donnchadh Ó hÁmsaigh) at the Belfast Harp Festival. The poem and the tune together were published in December 1813 in volume 5 of Thomas Moore’s A Selection of Irish Melodies. The original piano accompaniment was written by John Andrew Stevenson, several other arrangements followed in the 19th and 20th centuries.
Wikipedia
Es la última rosa del verano,
que solitaria queda floreciendo;
Todas sus adorables compañeras
Han marchitado y se han ido;
No hay flor de su linaje,
No hay capullo cercano,
Que reflejen su rubor,
O devuelvan suspiro por suspiro.
No dejaré que tú, solitaria!
Languidezcas en el tallo;
Ya que las adorables duermen,
Ve tú a dormir con ellas.
Así yo esparciré, suavemente,
Tus hojas sobre el lecho,
Donde tus compañeras de jardín,
Yacen sin perfume y muertas.
Tan pronto como pueda seguirte,
Cuando las amistades decaigan,
Y desde el círculo brillante del amor,
Las gemas caigan alejadas.
Cuando los corazones sinceros yazcan marchitos,
Y los bondadosos hayan volado,
¡Oh! ¿Quién habitaría
Este mundo sombrío en soledad
Originally published at blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com.
