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.
I met a lady in the meads
Full beautiful, a
fairy’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.
I saw pale kings, and princes too,
Pale warriors,
death-pale were they all;
Who cry’d—”Le belle Dame sans mercy
Hath thee in
thrall!”
I saw their starv’d lips in the gloom
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.
