La Belle Dame sans Merci
– John Keats
O what
can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The
sedge has withered 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
looked 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 sighed full sore,
And
there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.
And
there she lullèd me asleep,
And there I dreamed—Ah! woe betide!—
The
latest dream I ever dreamt
On the cold hill side.
I saw
pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They
cried—‘La Belle Dame sans Merci
Thee hath in thrall!’
I saw
their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gapèd 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 withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.
