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La Belle Dame Sans Merci
Ian Bostridge
Popularity ยท Low
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๐ฌ๐ง English ยท Original
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Lyrics
Original
Translation
Bilingual
O what can ail thee, night at odds
So long and palely loitering?
The sedge hath withered from the lake
And no birds sing
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O what can ail thee, night at odds
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full
And the harvest's done
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I see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fevered dew
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too
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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
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I made a garland for her head
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone
She looked at me as she did love
And made sweet moan
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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
She found me roots of reddish sweet
And honey wild and madder dew
And sure in language strange she said
"I love thee true"
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She took me to her elfin grot
And there she wept and sighed full sore
And there I shut her wild, wild eyes
With kisses four
And there she lulled me asleep
And there I dreamed a woe-betide
The latest dream I ever dreamed
On the cold hillside
I saw pale kings and princes too
Pale warriors, death pale were they all
They cried "La belle dame sans merci"
At the inn wall
I saw their starved lips in the gloom
With hurried warning gaping wide
And I awoke and found me here
On the cold hillside
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And this is why I suddenly
Alone and palely loitering
Though the sedge is withered from the lake
And no birds sing
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