Ah, what avails the sceptred race!
Ah, what the form divine!
What every virtue, every grace!
Rose Aylmer, all were thine.

Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes
May weep, but never see,
A night of memories and sighs
I consecrate to thee.

Added: Feb 21 2003 | Viewed: 557 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Walter Savage Landor
Poem: Rose Aylmer

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