by Charles Wolfe (1791 - 1823)
On hearing "The last rose of summer"
Language: English
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.
Authorship:
- by Charles Wolfe (1791 - 1823) [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Paul Hindemith (1895 - 1963), "On hearing "The last rose of summer"", published 1944 [high voice or medium voice and piano], from Nine English Songs, no. 1. [text verified 1 time]
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 16
Word count: 109