Verse > Anthologies > Francis T. Palgrave, ed. > The Golden Treasury
Francis T. Palgrave, ed. (1824–1897). The Golden Treasury.  1875.
J. Keats
CXCIII. La Belle Dame Sans Merci
"O WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms, 
  Alone and palely loitering? 
The sedge has wither'd from the lake, 
  And no birds sing. 
"O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms!         5
  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.  10
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,  15
  And her eyes were wild. 
"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.  20
"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,  25
  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;  30
And there I shut her wild, wild eyes 
  With kisses four. 
"And there she lullèd me asleep, 
  And there I dream'd—ah! woe betide! 
The latest dream I ever dream'd  35
  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!'  40
"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  45
  Alone and palely loitering, 
Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake, 
  And no birds sing." 

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