La Belle Dame Sans Merci            I       Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,       Alone and palely loitering;       The sedge is wither'd from the lake,       And no birds sing.       II       Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,       So haggard and so woe-begone?       The squirrel's granary is full,       And the harvest's done.       III       I see a lilly on thy brow,       With anguish moist and fever dew;       And on thy cheek a fading rose       Fast withereth too.            IV       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.       V       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.       VI       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. VII       She found me roots of relish sweet,       And honey wild, and manna dew;       And sure in language strange she said,       I love thee true.       VIII       She took me to her elfin grot,       And there she gaz'd and sighed deep,       And there I shut her wild sad eyes -       So kiss'd to sleep.       IX       And there we slumber'd on the moss,       And there I dream'd, ah woe betide,       The latest dream I ever dream'd       On the cold hill side.        X       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!'       XI       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 side.       XII       And this is why I sojourn here       Alone and palely loitering,       Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake,       And no birds sing.     Click here to return to the living room