THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER. 
95 
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 on 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 cold world alone ? 
—T. Moore. 
THE CLOSED CONVOLVULUS. 
Am hour ago, and sunny beams 
Were glancing o’er each airy bell; 
And thou wert drinking in those gleams 
Like beauty listening love’s farewell. 
