La Belle Dame sans Merci - John Keats

Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,

    Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge has withered from the lake,

    And no birds sing.

Oh 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 lulled 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

     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'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.