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290 |
The Song Book |
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CCXXIV |
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'TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER |
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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.
Words by Moore. |
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 ?
Tune Groves of Blarney. |
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