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?