Beauty is but a flower
Which wrinkles will devour;
Brightness falls from the air;
Queens have died young and fair.
– Thomas Nashe
‘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.