1. Admirable appropriation.

  2. La belle dame sans merci by 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.
 
  So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel’s granary is full,
  And the harvest’s done.
 
  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 fill 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 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 wither’d from the lake,
  And no birds sing.

    La belle dame sans merci by John Keats

    WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms,

      Alone and palely loitering?

    The sedge has wither’d from the lake,

      And no birds sing.

     

      So haggard and so woe-begone?

    The squirrel’s granary is full,

      And the harvest’s done.

     

      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 fill 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 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 wither’d from the lake,

      And no birds sing.

  3. Because I’m in the mood for telling people things I wouldn’t normally let them ask me on a good day; it’s been a bad day.

    1. Would you have sex with the last person you text messaged?
    2. You talked to an ex today, correct?
    3. Have you taken someone’s virginity?
    4. Is trust a big issue for you?
    5. Did you hang out with the person you like recently?

    Read More

  4. zeldanightwolfe:

    -twitchy eye-

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My blog. Working on a hat collection. Hate having pins and needles, provider of good coffee, having a mid-life crisis early and all that. Introduce yourself.

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