This the last rose of summer,
Left biooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud is nine,
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh.
I'll not leave thee,thou long one!
To pine on the stem,
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go,sleep thou with them.
Thus kindly I scatter
Thy leaves over the bed,
Where the mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.
So soon may I follow,
When friendship decay;
And from lover's shining circle
The gems drap away.
When true hearts lie withered
And fond ones are flown,
Who would inhabit
This bieak world alone!