SHE turn?d the fair page with her fairer hand? 
More fair and frail than it was wont to be? 
O?er each remember?d thing he lov?d to see 
She linger?d, and as with a fairy?s wand 
Enchanted it to order. Oft she fann?d 
New motes into the sun; and as a bee 
Sings thro? a brake of bells, so murmur?d she, 
And so her patient love did understand 
The reliquary room. Upon the sill 
She fed his favorite bird. ?Ah, Robin, sing!
He loves thee.? Then she touches a sweet string 
Of soft recall, and towards the Eastern hill 
Smiles all her soul?for him who cannot hear 
The raven croaking at his carrion ear.