La Belle Dame Sans merci - lyrics
O 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 would she 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 wild eyes with kisses four.
And there she lullèd me asleep, and there I dreamed—Ah! woe betide!—
The latest dream I ever dreamt 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 thee hath in thrall!’
I saw their starved lips in the gloam, with horrid warning gapèd 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 is withered from the lake, and no birds sing.
Music © Yallery Brown, 2021. Lyrics from a poem by John Keats.
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 would she 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 wild eyes with kisses four.
And there she lullèd me asleep, and there I dreamed—Ah! woe betide!—
The latest dream I ever dreamt 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 thee hath in thrall!’
I saw their starved lips in the gloam, with horrid warning gapèd 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 is withered from the lake, and no birds sing.
Music © Yallery Brown, 2021. Lyrics from a poem by John Keats.
