| The Last Rose of Summer Thomas Moore (1779�1852) �TIS the last rose of summer Left blooming alone; All her lovely companions Are faded and gone; No flower of her kindred, 5 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; 10 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 15 Lie scentless and dead. So soon may I follow, When friendships decay, And from Love�s shining circle The gems drop away. 20 When true hearts lie withered And fond ones are flown, Oh! who would inhabit This bleak world alone? Home Poems |