FAERY SONG

Ah! Woe is me! poor silver-wing!

That I must chant they 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 softly 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 in their last tears,

 At sweet life leaving, and these arbors green --

 Rich dowry from the spirit of the spheres

 alas! poor queen!