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.
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.
![Καλό μήνα με το ποίημα του μήνα: Οδυσσέας Ελύτης, [Θυμάμαι ήταν Απρίλης]](/sites/default/files/styles/t1/public/2022-03/elutis_2345.jpg?h=22206566&itok=dYNvgwhn "Καλό μήνα με το ποίημα του μήνα: Οδυσσέας Ελύτης, [Θυμάμαι ήταν Απρίλης]")
