la belle dame sans merci

sizi terkedip giden sevgilinizin ardından okuyup bi yandanda rakı içebileceğiniz deli şair john keats'in mükemmel şiiridir.
bu şiirin ayrıca çok güzel bi hikayesi vardır. ki sarhoş olduktan sonra o hikayesini de anımsarsanız eğer, rakının üzerine bide absolut içmek istersiniz.
dünyada uğruna resim yapılmış olan ender şiirlerden biridir.
sarhoş olduktan sonrada "vay bea adam resmen yaşadıklarımı aynen yazmış benim" geyiği yapmanız kaçınılmazdır. (bu tarafımdan tecrübe edilmiştir).
şahsen ben bu şiirin üzerine bir de ibrahim tatlısesin ne faydası var şarkısını dinlemenizi öneririm ki bu ilginç ama güzel bi paradox olur.

(bkz: la belle dame sans regret)

o what can ail thee, knight at arms,
alone and palely loitering?
the sedge is wither'd from the lake,
and no birds sing.

o 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 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 starv'd 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.