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 sighs
I consecrate to thee.

Next 10 Poems

• Walter Savage Landor : Separation
• Walter Savage Landor : Soon, O Ianthe! Life Is O'er
• Walter Savage Landor : The Chrysolites And Rubies Bacchus Brings
• Walter Savage Landor : The Dragon-fly
• Walter Savage Landor : The Evening Star
• Walter Savage Landor : The Maid's Lament
• Walter Savage Landor : The Three Roses
• Walter Savage Landor : To Age
• Walter Savage Landor : To Robert Browning
• Walter Savage Landor : To Zo

Previous 10 Poems

• Walter Savage Landor : Resignation
• Walter Savage Landor : Remain!
• Walter Savage Landor : Proud Word You Never Spoke
• Walter Savage Landor : One Lovely Name
• Walter Savage Landor : On His Seventy-fifth Birthday
• Walter Savage Landor : On His Eightieth Birthday
• Walter Savage Landor : On Catullus
• Walter Savage Landor : On An Eclipse Of The Moon
• Walter Savage Landor : Of Clementina
• Walter Savage Landor : Mother, I Cannot Mind My Wheel