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. Acon and Rhodope
2. Idle Words
3. Defiance
4. Tell Me Not Things Past All Belief
5. Corinna, from Athens, to Tanagra

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