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 lily 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 faery'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--"La belle Dame sans merci
       Hath thee in thrall!"

   I saw their starv'd lips in the gloam
       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.