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Brightman Sarah The Trees They Grow So High The last rose of summer 'Tis the last rose of summer, Left blooming alone; All her lovely companions are faded and gone; No flow'r of her kindred, No rosebud is nigh To reflect back her blushes, Or 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 wither'd, And fond ones are flown, Oh! who would inhabit This bleak world alone? |
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