Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling From glen to glen, and down the mountain side The summer's gone, and all the flowers are dying 'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide. (Danny Boy by Frederic Weatherly)
Tis the last rose of summer Left blooming alone; All her lovely companions Are faded and gone; No flower of her kindred, No rosebud is nigh, To reflect back her blushes, To give sigh for sigh. (The Last Rose of Summer by Thomas Moore)
If you just hold in your breath 'Til you come back up in full Hold in your breath 'Til you thought it through You foolish child Genius Next Door by Regina Spektor