FAERY POETRY FAERY SONG by John Keats   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 ladys 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