Explore "Rose Aylmer" by Alice Meynell on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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 watchful eyes
May weep, but never see,
A night of memories and of sighs
I consecrate to thee.