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.

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