Every rose has its thron. Every rose has its thorn.

This is a poem

The Last Rose of Summer

The last rose of summer

Left blooming alone;

All her lovely companions

Are faded and gone;

No flower of her kindred,

No rose-bud is nigh,

to reflect back her blushes,

Or 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.

Soon may I follow,

When friendships decay,

And from Love's shining circle

The gems drop away.

When true hearts lie withered,

And fond ones are flowing,

O! who would inhabit

This bleak world alone?

The last rose of summer

The last rose of summer

blooms alone;

all the moving companions of the past

All withered and gone;

There are no flowers of the same kind beside her,

Not half a rose bud,

to contrast her ruddy beauty,

Share her sorrow.

I will never leave you, Hu Lingling!

Let you languish alone;

Now that your beautiful companions have fallen asleep,

Go! You also lie down with them.

For this reason, I kindly scatter them

Your beautiful leaves are on the flower bed

There, they are also your garden companions

A place where he lay silently.

Soon I may also follow my friend,

When friendship fades away,

Like from the brilliant circle of love

Dropped gems.

When loyal friends leave,

The loved one flies away,

Ah! Who wants to stay alone and desolate in this desolate world?