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Journalisée
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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 withered from the lake...
...And no birds sing.
- La Belle Dame Sans Merci by W.B. Keats - 1819 -
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