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Ah,
what can ail thee, wretched wight,
Alone and palely
loitering;
The sedge is wither'd from the lake,
And no
birds sing.
Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
So
haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is
full,
And the harvest's done.
I see a lilly on thy
brow,
With anguish moist and fever dew;
And on thy cheek a
fading rose
Fast withereth too.
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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 set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw
all day long;
For sideways would she lean, and sing
A
faery's song.
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.
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 gaz'd and sighed
deep,
And there I shut her wild sad eyes -
So kiss'd to
sleep.
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.
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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!'
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.
And this is why I
sojourn here
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge
is wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.
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