by John Keats

    Ah， what can ail¹ thee， wretched wight，

    Alone and palely loitering；

    The sedge is withered² from the lake，

    And no birds sing.

    Ah， what can ail thee， wretched wight，

    So haggard and so woe³-begone？

    The squirrel's granary is full，

    And the harvest's done.

    I see a lilly on thy brow，

    With anguish⁴ 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 bracelets⁵ too， and fragrant⁶ zone；

    She looked at me as she did love，

    And made sweet moan.

    She found me roots of relish⁷ 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 gazed and sighed deep，

    And there I shut her wild sad eyes——

    So kissed to sleep.

    And there we slumbered⁸ on the moss⁹，

    And there I dreamed， ah woe betide，

    The latest dream I ever dreamed

    On the cold hill side.

    I saw pale kings， and princes too，

    Pale warriors¹⁰， death-pale were they all；

    Who cried——"La belle¹¹ Dame¹² sans merci

    Hath thee in thrall¹³！"

    I saw their starved lips in the gloam With horrid¹⁴ warning gaped¹⁵ 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 withered from the lake，And no birds sing

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