Caricamento in corso...

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.
Altre opere di Walter Savage Landor ...



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