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 roseFast withereth too.I met a Lady in the MeadsFull 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 singA 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 eyesWith kisses four.And there she lulled me asleep,And there I dream'd, Ah Woe betide,The latest dream I ever dreamtOn 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 merciHath thee in thrall!"I saw their starved lips in the gloamWith horrid warning gaped wide,And I awoke, and found me hereOn 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.