O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.
I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful - a faerys child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept and sighd full sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.
And there she lulled me asleep
And there I dreamd - Ah! woe betide! -
The latest dream I ever dreamd
On the cold hill side.