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| Queen Elizabeth - for Bethany and Erin Joy. |
'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,
To 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,
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?
One reader asked about favorite music. I might have added to the list - folk music. There is nothing like the melodies that are sung from generation to generation and finally written down. Lyrics often follow the music by many generations: thus Danny Boy, the lyrics written by a Brit! A famous organist said to me, "No one writes folk music. It becomes folk music over time."
Growing up, I was held in my room against my will and given no food (felony kidnapping, CFW would approve) so I would practice the flute. In the course of many years of practicing, I played a lot of exercises, opera tunes, and folk songs. "The Last Rose of Summer" is ideal for the flute. The combination of words and melody can make anyone blubber, even a sober WELS DP.
Summer is often extended here. The trees are full of green leaves. No hard frost has arrived to paint the trees and put the persistent flowers into their winter sleep. Shocking to many, roses love cold rainy weather and produce some of their best blooms toward the end of the season.
So we never know when the last rose of summer has bloomed. A dedicated rosarian would let it go to seed and save its energy for next spring. However, I enjoy surprising people with additional blooms. Roses always create happiness when they appear.
One of my classmates, Jorja Beert, has written often about grief on Facebook. Our society acts as if grief ignored will simply go away. But these old nostalgic poems remind people that the pain is a measure of their joy in remembering those times.
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| When we see this Veteran Honor rose, we think of veterans Pete Ellenberger and Dave Pearson. |
