|
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.
Death Stands Above Me
DEATH stands above me, whispering low
I know not what into my ear:
Of his strange language all I know
Is, there is not a word of fear.
One Lovely Name
ONE lovely name adorns my song,
And, dwelling in the heart,
Forever falters at the tongue,
And trembles to depart.
On His Seventy-fifth Birthday
I STROVE with none; for none was worth my strife;
Nature I loved, and next to Nature, Art;
I warmed both hands before the fire of life;
It sinks, and I am ready to depart.
On His Eightieth Birthday
TO my ninth decade I have tottered on,
And no soft arm bends now my steps to steady;
She, who once led me where she would, is gone,
So when he calls me, Death shall find me ready.
Walter Savage Landor
|
|
