Walter Savage Landor (Уолтер Сэвидж Лэндор)

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. With Rosy Hand a Little Girl Prest Down
2. Twenty Years Hence My Eyes May Grow
3. Yes; I Write Verses Now and Then
4. To Robert Browning
5. The Poet Who Sleeps

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