'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 senseless 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?