BBC Concert Orchestra, Morgan Pearse and John Andrews - La Belle Dame sans merci (Arr. for Voice & Orchestra by Jeremy Dibble)

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms
So lone and palely loitering?
The sedge hath wither'd from the lake
And no birds sing

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms
So haggard and so woebegone?
The squirrel's granary is full
And the harvest 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 beautifula 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 look'd 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 sigh'd full sore
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four

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

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 gloom
With horrid warning gaping 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 wither'd from the lake
And no birds sing

Written by:
Charles Villiers Stanford

Publisher:
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