Rose Aylmer

Walter Savage LandorSad

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 sighs I consecrate to thee.

Walter Savage Landor
Mood:
Sad
Topics:
nostalgia, death, sorrow, memory, loss

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