Walter Savage Landor (30 January 1775 – 17 September 1864 / Warwick)
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.
Comments about this poem (Rose Aylmer by Walter Savage Landor )
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