PoetiX Streamby Laurence Fuller

Rose Aylmer

Rose Aylmer

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.

Verse breaks and indentation are preserved. Wrapped lines have a hanging indent. Width adapts to your screen.

Simonidea, 1806.

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