240
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
Yet—as all things mourn awhile
At fleeting blisses;
Let us too; but be our dirge
A dirge of kisses.
1817.
LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI.
A BALLAD.
I.
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.
II.
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
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,
And her eyes were wild.
