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...
Ah, what avails the sceptred race! Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes |
Proud word you never spoke, but you will speak |