The Last Rose

'Tis the last rose of summer,

Left blooming alone.

All her lovely companions

Are faded and gone.

No flow'r of her kindred,

No rosebud 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 loves' shining circle

The gems drop away!

When true hearts lie withered

And fond ones are flown

Oh! Who would inhabit

This bleak world alone?