558. 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 sighs
I consecrate to thee.
Walter Savage Landor. 1775-1864
559. Ianthe
FROM you, Ianthe, little troubles pass
Like little ripples down a sunny river;
Your pleasures spring like daisies in the grass,
Cut down, and up again as blithe as ever.
Walter Savage Landor. 1775-1864
560. Twenty Years hence
TWENTY years hence my eyes may grow,
If not quite dim, yet rather so;
Yet yours from others they shall know,
Twenty years hence.
Twenty years hence, though it may hap
That I be call'd to take a nap
In a cool cell where thunder-clap
Was never heard,