La Belle Dame sans Merci
 

    O, WHAT can ail thee, Knight at arms,
        Alone and palely loitering;
    The sedge is 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 cheek 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 sideways would she lean, 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 sad 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 side.

    I saw pale Kings, and Princes too,
        Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
    Who cry'd--"La belle Dame sans merci
        Hath thee in thrall!"

    I saw their starved lips in the gloam
        With horrid warning gaped wide,
    And I awoke, and found me here
        On the cold hill 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.

        John Keats