AH what avails the sceptered 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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO HIS WIFE ON THE 16TH ANNIVERSARY OF HER WEDDING DAY, WITH A RING by SAMUEL BISHOP CINQUAIN: NOVEMBER NIGHT by ADELAIDE CRAPSEY NO BABY IN THE HOUSE by CLARA G. DOLLIVER SONNET ON SITTING DOWN TO READ KING LEAR ONCE AGAIN by JOHN KEATS ADAM'S CURSE by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS DOG AND CAT by RUTH ANDERSON BARNETT |