'Tis the last rose of summer, left blooming alone; All her lovely companions are faded and gone; No flower of her kindred, no rosebud is nigh, To reflect back her blushes, and 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 withered, and fond ones are flown, Oh ! Who would inhabit this bleak world alone?