'TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER
Thomas Moore

'Tis 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.
Siince 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 friendships decay,
And from love's shining circle the gems drop away.
When true hearts lie withered and fond one's are flown,
Oh who would inhabit this bleak world alone.