'TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER
Thomas Moore (1779-1852)

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,
To 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,
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?

Thomas Moore, the Irish poet, singer and entertainer, has been described as Ireland’s Robert Burns. He was a friend of both Byron and Shelley. Three other poems of his still remembered today are Believe me if All Those Endearing Young Charms, The Minstrel Boy and Oft in the Stilly Night.

-oo0oo-

Tomorrow - Mary’s Ghost (Thomas Hood)

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-