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'Tis the last rose of summer, |
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Left blooming alone; |
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All her lovely companions are faded and gone; |
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No flow'r of her kindred, |
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No rosebud is nigh |
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To reflect back her blushes, |
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Or give sigh for sigh. |
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I'll not leave thee, thou lone one, |
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To pine on the stem; |
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since the lovely are sleeping, |
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Go, sleep thou with them; |
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Thus kindly I scatter |
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Thy leaves o'er the bed |
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Where thy mates of the garden |
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Lie senseless and dead. |
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So soon may I follow, |
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When friendships decay, |
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And from love's shining circle |
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The gems drop away! |
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When true hearts lie wither'd, |
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And fond ones are flown, |
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Oh! who would inhabit |
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This bleak world alone? |
