She took me to her elfin grot, And there she wept, and sigh’d fill sore, And there I shut her wild wild eyes With kisses four. And there she lullèd me asleep, And there I dream’d—Ah! woe betide! The latest dream I ever dream’d On the cold hill’s side. 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!”
