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O what can
ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake,
And no birds
sing.
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms!
So
haggard and so woebegone?
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 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 thee 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 dreamed
On the
cold hill's 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
has withered from the lake,
And no birds sing."
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