‘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 friendships 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-

Yu/stan/kema