From âIrish Melodiesâ âT IS 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, Or give sigh for sigh! I âll 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 oâer the bed Where thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead. So soon may I follow, When friendships decay, And from loveâs shining circle The gems drop away! When true hearts lie withered, And fond ones are flown, O, who would inhabit This bleak world alone?