tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions are faded and gone;
No flowr of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh.
Ill 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 oer the bed
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie senseless and dead.
So soon may I follow,
When friendships decay,
And from loves shining circle
The gems drop away!
When true hearts lie witherd,
And fond ones are flown,
Oh! who would inhabit
This bleak world alone?
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