Rose Aylmer , Love Poems
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Rose Aylmer
By Walter Savage Landor
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 of sighs
I consecrate to thee.
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 of sighs
I consecrate to thee.
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