Short Love Poems

 

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.

 

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