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Poem by Thomas Moore (1779-1852); contained in my mother's songbook of Irish folk songs (I don't know where the melody came from).
'Tis the last rose of summer, left blooming all alone 
All her lovely companions are faded and gone. 
No flower of her kindred, no rose bud 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 wither'd and fond ones are flown 
Oh! who would inhabit this bleak world alone!

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