Saturday, 13 August 2016

Dikt; The Last Rose of Summer by Thomas Moore

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 wither'd, 
And fond ones are flown, 
Oh! who would inhabit 
This bleak world alone? 

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