La Belle Dame sans Merci.

O, what can ail thee, knight at arms,
Alone and palely loitering,
The sedge has withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.....

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 set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long;
For sideways would she lean and sing
A faery`s song....
John Keats.