The chill of autumn has now replaced the warmth of summer. Leaves are falling and flowers are dying.
“It is the pensive season – a time for taking stock – a time for assessing.”
I love autumn but I mourn the demise of the beautiful roses, especially the beauties I nurture and fondle in the garden behind my little Irish homestead, and eagerly look forward to next summer when they return again to bloom and inspire me.
It reminds me of a little romantic poem by John Boyle O’Reilly 1844-1890: ‘A White Rose,’ and my all-time favorite: ‘The Last Rose of Summer’ by Thomas Moore.
I hope you like them.
A WHITE ROSE
The red rose whispers of passion,
And the white rose breathes of love;
Oh, the red rose is a falcon,
And the white rose is a dove.
But I send you a cream-white rosebud
With a flush on its petal tips;
For the love that is purest and sweetest
Has a kiss of desire on the lips.
* * * * *
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 neigh.
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’re 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 one’s are flown,
Oh who would inhabit this bleak world alone?