ROSES

   Thomas Moore (1779-1852)

'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 ?

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It is not the last rose yet, summer has just begun s few weeks ago, but I like this poem. I have also heard the song.

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