O, what is the song this late, late rose is singing?
where will its petals fall, pale orange-yellow rose?
when shall the breeze and the rose cease laughing, dancing,
when will the raindrops bring time, and loss, and tears?
who wrote the song that the rose is singing, singing,
who painted petals on this fleeting rose?
when did the breeze discover dancing, dancing,
with roses that fade and fall in loss and time and tears?
after the rosefall, a colder breeze is blowing,
rose petals lie in drifts upon the ground;
but the breeze remembers, wintering red rose-hips, sowing
the rose’s spring and singing; remembering rose’s sound..
Michael, this is such a sad/joyous poem. I feel the coolness of the fall breeze as it dances around the garden's last rose, and feel winter's breath near. But you give hope for another spring - and therein lies its beauty. Thank you for sharing this thought. Scarlett
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This has quite a Shakespearean feel about it.... 'If music be the food of love....' It should be sung by Feste, with lute accompaniment to a group of Sir Toby and his gently sozzled knock-abouts, or perhaps even at the court of the Duke Orsino himself.