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...CONTRA MORTEM: THE ECSTASY by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE LEAVES OF THE TREE HIDE THE SUN by DAVID IGNATOW ALIENS (TO YOU - EVERYWHERE! DEDICATED) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ARMOR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE GOLDEN WEDDING OF STERLING AND SARAH LANIER by SIDNEY LANIER |