John Keats

'O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,

   Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge has wither'd 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 ful,

   And the harvest's done.

I see a lily on thy brow

   With anguish moist and fever-dew,

And on thy cheeks a fading rose

   Fast withereth too.'

'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.

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 sidelong would she bend, and sing

   A fairy'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 sigh'd full sore,

And there I shut her wild wild eyes

   With kisses four.

And there she lulled me asleep,

   And there I dream'd----Ah! woe betide!

The latest dream I ever dream'd

   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 is wither'd from the lake

   And no birds sing.'