The Last Rose Of Summer

'TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER

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,
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.

So soon may I follow,
When friendship decay,
And from Love's shining circle
The gems drop away!
When true hearts lie withered.
And fond ones are flown,
Oh! who would inhabit
This bleak world alone?

- Thomas Moore