"La Belle Dame sans Merci" John Keats

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 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 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 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 sad eyes

With kisses four.

And there she lulled me asleep,

And there I dream'd, 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;

Who cry'd--"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 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.