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Poem by Thomas Moore

From Irish Melodies. 53. 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.

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

Thomas Moore's other poems:
  1. TotheFire‑Fly
  2. The Lake of the Dismal Swamp
  3. Bright Be Thy Dreams
  4. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 49
  5. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 50

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