'Tis the last rose of Summer, Left blooming alone; All her lovely companions Are faded and gone.

Eyes of unholy blue.

The Minstrel-Boy to the war is gone In the ranks of death you will find him His father's sword he hath girded on And his wild harp slung behind him.

But there's nothing half so sweet in life As love's young dream.

Scarcely a tear to shed; Hardly a word to say; The end of a Summer's day; Sweet Love is dead.

Sweet April-time - O cruel April-time! Year after year returning, with a brow Of promise, and red lips with longing paled, And backward-hidden hands that clutc…

The ancient owls' nest must have burned. Hastily, all alone, a glistening armadillo left the scene, rose-flecked, head down, tail down