Tuesday, 22 December 2009
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 sights
I consecrate to thee.