Rose Aylmer
by Walter Savage Landor (1775 - 1864)
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.
