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...TO W.P.: 3 by GEORGE SANTAYANA PINE-TREES AND THE SKY: EVENING by RUPERT BROOKE THE HILL WIFE: THE IMPULSE by ROBERT FROST SUNKEN GOLD by EUGENE JACOB LEE-HAMILTON THE MOWER TO THE GLOW-WORMS by ANDREW MARVELL THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 68 by OMAR KHAYYAM |