The Last (Wild) Rose Of Summer

After all the joy the England football team has brought us over the past month a feeling of melancholy has swept through the nation today.

Apart from sadness that we lost the game, I was sad to see the last bloom of the wild white field rose that grows in our hedge. It flowers a bit later than the pink dog roses which finished blooming a while ago.

‘Tis the last rose of Summer,
   Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
   Are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred,
   No rose-bud 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?


Thomas Moore, the Irish poet wrote this in 1805. It was set to a traditional Irish tune, very beautiful but very sad.