The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still! WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI

"O WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge has 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'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 fairy'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.