Ah! woe is me! poor silver-wing! That I must chant thy lady's dirge, And death to this fair haunt of spring, Of melody, and streams of flowery verge,-- Poor silver-wing! ah! woe is me! That I must see These blossoms snow upon thy lady's pall! Go, pretty page! and in her ear Whisper that the hour is near! Softly tell her not to fear Such calm favonian burial! Go, pretty page! and soothly tell,-- The blossoms hang by a melting spell, And fall they must, ere a star wink thrice Upon her closed eyes, That now in vain are weeping their last tears, At sweet life leaving, and these arbours green,-- Rich dowry from the Spirit of the Spheres,-- Alas! poor Queen! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN OLD CASTLE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE HUSBAND'S PETITION by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN EPITAPH ON TWO YOUNG MEN NAMED LEITCH IN CROSSING THE RIVER SOUTHESK by JAMES BEATTIE PSALM 130 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE RETURN OF THE NATIVE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE DEATH-MASK OF JOHN CLARE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE STRICKEN HART by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |