“As Summer into Autumn slips
And yet we sooner say
“The Summer” than “the Autumn,” lest
We turn the sun away.”
Emily Dickinson.

Ireland and the British Isles have enjoyed a beautiful Summer of sunshine and flowers. But now it’s Autumn, the sun is cooler, the flowers are withering and the verdant leaves fall wrinkled and dead. It reminds me of Thomas Moore’s beautiful poem ‘The Last Rose of Summer.’


‘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 now 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 lay withered and fond one’s are flown,
Oh who would inhabit this bleak world alone?


‘YOKE THE PONY’ Paddy Cummins.
A charming childhood memoir of Ireland in the forties and fifties.
Available on Amazon – Kindle.