THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER

Thomas Moore 1779-1852

'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.

JOHN'S SCRAPBLOG

This and that (especially things of the past) from a nonagenarian

returns on Friday 2nd September.

http://johnsscrapblog.blogspot.com

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