Asleep! O sleep a little while, white pearl My sudden adoration, my great love! 1818. BALLAD. LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI, ! I. WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms, The sedge has wither'd from the lake, 11. O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, So haggard and so woe-begone? And the harvest's done. III. I see a lily on thy brow With anguish moist and fever dew, Fast withereth too. IV. I met a lady in the meads, Full beautiful-a faery's child, V. 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. VI. I set her on my pacing steed, And nothing else saw all day long, For sidelong would she bend, and sing A faery's song. VII. She found me roots of relish sweet, VIII. She took me to her elfin grot, And there she wept and sigh'd full sore, And there I shut her wild wild eyes With kisses four. IX. 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. X. 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!" XI. I saw their starved lips in the gloam, XII. And this is why I sojourn here, Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake FRAGMENTS. TO REYNOLDS. "I was led into these thoughts, my dear Reynolds, by the beauty of the morning operating on a sense of idleness. I have not read any books-the morning said I was right. I had no idea but of the morning, and the Thrush said I was right, seeming to say-(Letter to Reynolds, Feb. 1818) THOU whose face hath felt the Winter's wind, Whose eye has seen the snow-clouds And the black elm tops 'mong the freezing stars! HERE'S the Poet? show him! show him, Muses nine! that I may know him. Is an equal, be he King, Or poorest of the beggar-clan, MODERN LOVE. ND what is Love? It is a doll, dress'd up For idleness to cosset, nurse, and dandle; A thing of soft misnomers, so divine Yawning and doting a whole summer long, And common Wellingtons turn Romeo boots; Then Cleopatra lives at number seven, And Antony resides in Brunswick Square. Fools! if some passions high have warm'd the world, If Queens and Soldiers have play'd deep for hearts, Should be more common than the growth of weeds FRAGMENT OF "THE CASTLE BUILDER." O-NIGHT I'll have my friar-let me think About my room,-I'll have it in the It should be rich and sombre, and the moon, A tambour-frame, with Venus sleeping there, A skull upon a mat of roses lying, |