La Belle Dame Sans Mercy

East o' the Sun, West o' the Moon 
They all must go who'd find her boon. 
(La Belle Dame Sans Mercy!) 

West o' the Moon, East o' the Sun, 
Thither are many roads that run, 
But the right road is the only one. 
(La Belle Dame Sans Mercy!) 

Her heart (woe's me!) is locked and cold- 
A secret chamber filled with gold. 
(La Belle Dame Sans Mercy!) 

Straight as a lily-wand is she, 
Her face is pale as lilies be, 
Her brown hair floweth to her knee. 
(La Belle Dame Sans Mercy!) 

Her hands are idle hands and white, 
They spin nor weave by day or night. 
(La Belle Dame Sans Mercy!) 

And yet those slender hands, God wot, 
Have dug graves in her garden plot 
'Neath tangles of forget-me-not. 
(La Belle Dame Sans Mercy!) 

There is no Saint in Paradise 
Bends brows above such holy eyes. 
(La Belle Dame Sans Mercy!) 

And be her eyes or blue or grey, 
There lives no man on earth to say, 
Yet her eyes draw men's souls away 
(La Belle Dame Sans Mercy!) 

And who dare kiss her on the mouth 
Knows no more hunger, no more drouth. 
(La Belle Dame Sans Mercy!) 

And whoso she hath kissed again 
Is blest among all other men: 
But Heaven's gate shuts him agen 
And La Belle Dame Sans Mercy.