Saturday, 19 April 2014

and no birds sing.

La Belle Dame sans Merci

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!”

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,

With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,  On the cold hill’s 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.

John Keats

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