La Belle Dame Sans Merci

O what can ail thee knight-at-arms

Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge has wither'd from the Lake

And no birds sing!

O what can ail thee knight-at-arms

So haggard and so woe-begone?

The squirrel's granary is full

And the harvest's done.

I see a lily on thy brow

With anguish moist and fever dew

And on thy cheeks a fading rose

Fast withereth too—

I met a Lady in the Meads

Full beautiful, a faery's child

Her hair was long, her foot was light

And her eyes were wild—

I made a Garland for her head,

And bracelets too, and fragrant zone:

She look'd at me as she did love

And made sweet moan—

I set her on my pacing steed

And nothing else saw all day long

For sidelong would she bend and sing

A faery's song—

She found me roots of relish sweet

And honey wild and manna dew

And sure in language strange she said

"I love thee true"—

She took me to her elfin grot

And there she wept and sigh'd full sore

And there I shut her wild wild eyes

With kisses four.

And there she lulled me asleep

And there I dream'd—Ah Woe betide!

The latest dream I ever dreamt

On the cold hill's side.

I saw pale kings and princes too

Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;

They cried "La belle dame sans merci

Hath thee in thrall."

I saw their starv'd lips in the gloam

With horrid warning gaped wide

And I awoke and found me here

On the cold hill's side.

And this is why I sojourn here

Alone and palely loitering;

Though the sedge is wither'd from the Lake,

And no birds sing—