La Belle Dame Sans Merci

I Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, Alone and palely loitering; The sedge is wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing. II Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, 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 cheek 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 set her on my pacing steed, And nothing else saw all day long; For sideways would she lean, and sing A faery's song. VI 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. 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 gaz'd and sighed deep, And there I shut her wild sad eyes - So kiss'd to sleep. IX And there we slumber'd on the moss, And there I dream'd, ah woe betide, The latest dream I ever dream'd On the cold hill side. X I saw pale kings, and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; Who cry'd - 'La Belle Dame sans merci Hath thee in thrall!' XI I saw their starv'd lips in the gloam With horrid warning gaped wide, And I awoke, and found me here On the cold hill 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.

Music by. Yanni "Nostalgia"