Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake, And no birds sing.
Oh 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 cheeks 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 dreamt On the cold hill 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 withered from the lake, And no birds sing.
