THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMERBy Thomas Moore’TIS the last rose of summerLeft blooming alone;All her lovely companionsAre faded and gone;No flower of her kindred,No rosebud is nigh,To reflect back her blushes,To 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 scatterThy leaves o’er the bed,Where thy mates of the gardenLie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow,When friendships decay,And from Love’s shining circleThe gems drop away.

When true hearts lie witheredAnd fond ones are flown,Oh!

who would inhabitThis bleak world alone?

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