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La Belle Dame sans Merci 
John Keats 
Lamia, Isabella etc (1820, 25)
composed 1819, 24

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, 
Alone and palely loitering; 
The sedge is wither'd from the lake, 
And no birds sing. 

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, 
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 set her on my pacing steed, 
And nothing else saw all day long; 
For sideways would she lean, and sing 
A faery's song. 

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. 

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 gaz'd and sighèd deep, 
And there I shut her wild sad eyes-- 
So kiss'd to sleep. 

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. 

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 starv'd lips in the gloam 
With horrid warning gapèd 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.