And her eyes were wild.
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
On the cold hill side.
With horrid warning gapèd wide,
And no birds sing.
She looked at me as she did love,
And nothing else saw all day long,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
She found me roots of relish sweet,
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
I made a garland for her head,
And there she wept and sighed full sore,
Alone and palely loitering,
'I love thee true'.
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
I see a lily on thy brow,
The squirrel's granary is full,
And made sweet moan
And I awoke and found me here,
I set her on my pacing steed,
They cried—'La Belle Dame sans Merci
And sure in language strange she said—
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
The latest dream I ever dreamt
With kisses four.
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
With anguish moist and fever-dew,
And there I dreamed—Ah! woe betide!—
On the cold hill's side.
And honey wild, and manna-dew,
The sedge has withered from the lake,
And there she lullèd me asleep,
And the harvest's done.
And no birds sing.
And this is why I sojourn here,
She took me to her Elfin grot,
Fast withereth too.
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
I met a lady in the meads,
A faery's song.
Full beautiful—a faery's child,
Thee hath in thrall!'
I saw pale kings and princes too,