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Floral Poetry. 
177 
THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER. 
’TYTIS 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 senseless 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 cold world alone ? 
Moore. 
m- 
z 
