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The Last Rose Of Summer
-Thomas Moore-
Tis the last rose of summer
Left blooming alone
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone
No flow'r 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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