'Tis the last rose of summer

  Left blooming alone;

All her lovely companions

  Are faded and gone;

No flower 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 withered,

  And fond ones are flown,

Oh! who would inhabit

  This bleak world alone?