Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms!

Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge has wither'd from the lake,

And no birds sing.

Oh 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 anquish moist and fever dew;

And on thy cheeks a fading rose

Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the mead-

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 sidelog would she bend, and sing

A fairy 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 sigh'd full sore;

And there I shut her wild, wild eyes

With kisses four.

And there she lull'd me asleep;

And there I dream'd-Ah! woe betide!

The latest dream I ever dream'd

On the cold hill's 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 warning gaped wide;

And I awoke, and found me here,

On the cold hill's side

And this is why I sojourn here,

Alon and palely loitering,

Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake,

And no birds sing.

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.