LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCL. 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! And the harvest's done. III. I see a lily on thy brow With anguish moist and fever dew, And on thy cheeks a fading rose 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, VII. She found me roots of relish sweet, 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. Four eyes, I love ove you true! 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. X. 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!" XI. I saw their starved lips in the gloam, On the cold hill's side. XII. And this is why I sojourn here, Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing. 1819. THE EVE OF ST. MARK. (UNFINISHED.) UPON a Sabbath-day it fell; Twice holy was the Sabbath-bell: Each arched porch, and entry low, The bells had ceased, the prayers begun, Perplex'd her with a thousand things,- Azure saints and silver rays, Moses' breastplate, and the seven Bertha was a maiden fair, |