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Charles Wolfe (Чарльз Вольф)


The Last Rose of Summer


That strain again? It seems to tell
Of something like a joy departed;
I love its mourning accents well,
Like voice of one, ah! broken-hearted.

That note that pensive dies away,
And can each answering thrill awaken,
It sadly, wildly, seems to say,
Thy meek heart mourns its truth forsaken.

Or there was one who never more
Shall meet thee with the looks of gladness,
When all of happier life was o'er,
When first began thy night of sadness.

Sweet mourner, cease that melting strain,
Too well it suits the grave's cold slumbers;
Too well the heart that loved in vain
Breathes, lives, and weeps in those wild numbers.



Charles Wolfe's other poems:
  1. Oh Say Not That My Heart Is Cold
  2. To Mary
  3. На погребение английского генерала сира Джона МураThe Burial of Sir John Moore at Corunna


Poems of other poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием):

  • Thomas Moore (Томас Мур) The Last Rose of Summer ("’TIS the last rose of summer")

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