"La Belle Dame sans Merci"

by

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 the 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.

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