67 Keats, “La Belle Dame Sans Merci” (1819)

1

Ah what can ail thee, wretched wight,

Alone and palely loitering; The sedge is wither’d from the lake,

And no birds sing.

2

Ah what can ail thee, wretched wight,

So haggard and so woe-begone? The squirrel’s granary is full,

And the harvest’s done.

3

I see a lilly on thy brow,

With anguish moist and fever dew; And on thy cheek a fading rose

Fast withereth too.

4

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.

5

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.

6

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.

7

She found me roots of relish sweet,

And honey wild, and manna dew, And sure in language strange she said,

I love thee true.

8

She took me to her elfin grot,

And there she gaz’d and sighed deep, And there I shut her wild sad eyes—

So kiss’d to sleep.

9

And there we slumber’d on the moss,

And there I dream’d, ah woe betide The latest dream I ever dream’d

On the cold hill side.

10

I saw pale kings, and princes too,

Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; Who cry’d—”Le belle Dame sans mercy

Hath thee in thrall!”

11

I saw their starv’d lips in the gloom

With horrid warning gaped wide, And I awoke, and found me here

On the cold hill side.

12

And this is why I sojourn here

Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake,

And no birds sing.