I sang of the dancing stars, I sang of the dædal earth, And of heaven, and the giant wars, And love, and death, and birth. And then I changed my pipings-- Singing how down the vale of Mænalus I pursued a maiden, and clasp'd a reed: Gods and men, we are all deluded thus; It breaks in our bosom, and then we bleed. All wept--as I think both ye now would, If envy or age had not frozen your blood-- At the sorrow of my sweet pipings. LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI JOHN KEATS '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 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 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!" 'I saw their starved lips in the gloam With horrid warning gapèd 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.' GAFFER GRAY THOMAS HOLCROFT Ho, why dost thou shiver and shake, Gaffer Gray? And why does thy nose look so blue? ''Tis the weather that's cold, 'Tis I'm grown very old, And my doublet is not very new, Well-a-day!' Then line thy worn doublet with ale, Gaffer Gray; And warm thy old heart with a glass. 'Nay, but credit I've none, And my money's all gone; Then say how may that come to pass? Well-a-day!' Hie away to the house on the brow, Gaffer Gray; And knock at the jolly priest's door. 'The priest often preaches Against worldly riches, But ne'er gives a mite to the poor, Well-a-day!'