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.
[ SONG]
Who is Silvia? what is she, That all our swains commend her? Holy, fair and wise is she; The heaven such grace did lend her That she might admired be.
Is she kind, as she is fair? For beauty lives with kindness. Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of his blindness; And, being help’d, inhabits there.
Then to Silvia let us sing, That Silvia is excelling; She excels each mortal thing Upon the dull earth dwelling; To her let us garlands bring.
W. Shakespeare.