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 made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look'd at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.

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!"

She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said-
"I love thee true."

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!"

And there she lulled me asleep,
And there I dream'd-Ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dream'd
On the cold hill's side.