Rose Aylmer
by Walter Savage Landor (1775 - 1864)

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.

Read more about Walter Savage Landor at Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

Is it possible
to win back
a lost love?