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.
Classic poem
Rose Aylmer
Public domain/Source
About this poem
- First line
- Ah, what avails the sceptred race!
- Poet
- Walter Savage Landor
- Themes
- nature, beauty, grief, faith
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