'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 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 ; 

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 wither'd, 

And fond ones are flown, 

Oh ! who would inhabit 

This bleak world alone ?

~ Thomas Moore