Name: la belle dame sans merci (keats)
Duration: 3 min 49 s
Channel: keats' words, wyverne's melody
Description: "la belle dame sans merci (keats)" is a song by wyldwyverne. keat's poem set to music

la belle dame sans merci (keats)

wyldwyverne

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keat's poem set to music

folk pagan acoustic folk druid old ballads pagan folk trad folk traditional folk

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wyldwyverne

folk singer with acoustic guitar, singing traditional folk-songs and old ballads, and pagan, specifically druidic.

i play guitar and recorders and sing traditional american, english, irish, scottish and australian folksongs, old ballads and some of my own songs. my own songs tend to have pagan themes, specifically, druidic. sometimes one of my friends joins me and we sing harmonies. very occasionally, we sing in other languages.

Song Info

Genre

Acoustic • Acoustic Folk

Charts

Peak #354

Peak in subgenre #61

Author

keats' words, wyverne's melody

Rights

vyvyan ogma wyverne 2009

Uploaded

December 05, 2009

Track Files

MP3

MP3 1.8 MB • 64 kbps • 3:49

Story behind the song

keats' poem haunts me. i got this melody from my spiritual husband, an aetherial being that some might call a faerie. (such marriages are fairly commonplace in the pacific.)

Lyrics

Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
    Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake,
    And no birds sing.
Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
    So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
    And the harvest's done.
I see a lily on thy brow,
    With anguish moist and fever-dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
    Fast withereth too.
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 looked at me as she did love,
    And made sweet moan.
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 relish sweet,
    And honey wild, and manna-dew,
And sure in language strange she said -
    'I love thee true'.
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 - Ah! woe betide! -
The latest dream I ever dreamt
    On the cold hill 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!'
I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
    With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
    On the cold hill's side.
And this is why I sojourn here
    Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake, 
    And no birds sing.

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