Oh, what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.
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.
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 she would 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 eyes
With kisses four.
And there she lulled me asleep
And there I dreamed-Ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dreamed
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 waning 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 has withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.