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 rosebud is nigh,

To reflect back her blushes and give sigh for sigh.

Thomas Moore

More snow. Seems like winter is getting a foot in the door…
Listen to an ethereal recording of the poem set to music here.

Published by

Delft

I like blue.

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