IV. LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI.

BALLAD.

                                   I.
              O WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
                Alone and palely loitering?
              The sedge has wither'd from the lake,
                And no birds sing.

                                   II.
              O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms!
                So haggard and so woe-begone?
              The squirrel's granary is full,
                And the harvest's done.

                                   III.
              I see a lily on thy brow
                With anguish moist and fever dew,
              And on thy cheeks a fading rose
                Fast withereth too.

                                   IV.
              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.

                                   V.
              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.

                                   VI.
              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.

                                   VII.
              She found me roots of relish sweet,
                And honey wild, and manna dew,
              And sure in language strange she said--
                "I love thee true."

                                  VIII.
              She took me to her elfin grot,
                And there she wept, and sigh'd fill sore,
              And there I shut her wild wild eyes
                With kisses four.

                                   IX.
              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.

                                   X.
              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!"

                                   XI.
              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.

                                   XII.
              And this is why I sojourn here,
                Alone and palely loitering,
              Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake,
                And no birds sing.