| Thomas Moore 1779 – 1852 |
Irish Air, “The Groves of Blarney” |
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| 1. ‘Tis the last rose of Summer, Left blooming alone; All her lovely companions Are faded and gone; No flower of her kindred, No rose-bud is nigh, To reflect back her blushes Or give sigh for sigh! |
3. 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 bleak world alone? |
| 2. 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 scentless and dead. |
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https://1000-good-songs.org/p/86