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| The Last Rose of Summer |
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| Thomas Moore (1779–1852) |
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| ’TIS the last rose of summer |
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| Left blooming alone; |
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| All her lovely companions |
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| Are faded and gone; |
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| No flower of her kindred, |
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| No rosebud is nigh, |
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| To reflect back her blushes, |
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| To give sigh for sigh. |
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| I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one! |
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| To pine on the stem; |
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| Since the lovely are sleeping, |
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| Go, sleep thou with them. |
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| Thus kindly I scatter |
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| Thy leaves o’er the bed, |
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| Where thy mates of the garden |
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| Lie scentless and dead. |
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| So soon may I follow, |
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| When friendships decay, |
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| And from Love’s shining circle |
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| The gems drop away. |
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| When true hearts lie withered |
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| And fond ones are flown, |
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| Oh! who would inhabit |
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| This bleak world alone? | |
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