The Last Rose of Summer / Thomas Moore

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,
     To 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,
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 (1779-1852)
From Irish Melodies, 1807

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

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