Poem by Walter Savage Landor

Rose Aylmer

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.

1. Twenty Years Hence My Eyes May Grow
2. A Pastoral
3. Idle Words
4. Well I Remember How You Smiled
5. Pleasure! Why Thus Desert the Heart

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