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This 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.
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep thou with them.
Thy leaves o'er the bed
Where thy mates of the garden
Soon may I follow,
When friendships decay,
And from Love's shining circle
And fond ones are flown,
O! who would inhabit
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