Gebir by Walter Savage Landor
page 66 of 66 (100%)
page 66 of 66 (100%)
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His eyes grew stiff, he struggled and expired.
Footnote: {1} "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." |
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