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Thomas Moore - Tis the Last Rose of Summer
Work rating: Medium

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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