LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI. A BALLAD. I. O WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms, The sedge has wither'd from the lake, II. O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, So haggard and so woe-begone? And the harvest's done. III. I see a lily on thy brow With anguish moist and fever dew, 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, 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 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 full 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. 1819. La Belle Dame sans Merci. X. I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; Hath thee in thrall!" XI. I saw their starved lips in the gloam, On the cold hill's side. XII. And is this why I sojourn here, Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake, THE END. BRADBURY, AGNEW, & Co., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS. 35I |