La Belle Dame Sans Merci

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Oh 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 fairy'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 fairy'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 dream'd
On the cold hill's 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 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

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