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, Or give sigh for sigh. Ill 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 oer 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? (Thomas Moore)
Posted on: Sat, 20 Sep 2014 00:30:45 +0000
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