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 stern,
    Since the lovely are sleeping,
    Go, sleep thou with them.
    Thus kindly I'll 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 flow'n
    Oh! Who would inhabit
    This bleak world alone?

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