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Thomas Moore
| C | Am | F | C | F | C | G7 | C | |
| ' | Tis the Last | Rose | of | Summer, | left | blooming | alo | ne; |
| F | G7 | C | Am | Dm | C | Am | F | C | G7 | C |
| All | her | love | ly co | mpa | ni | ons, | are | faded | and | gone; |
Bm G A7 D Bm C#tm Bm F# Bm
No flow'r of her kindred, no rose bud is nigh
| Fm | C | Dm | C | F | C | Dm7 | G7 | C |
| To r | eflect back | her | blushes, | or | give | sigh | for | sigh. |
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 flow'n,
Oh! who would inhabit this bleak world alone.