"The Maniac's Song" - Ann Taylor
Bring me a garland, bring me a wreath;
Bring me a flower from the dank stream side;
Bring me a herb smelling sweetly of death,
Wet with the drowsy tide.
Haste to the pool with the green-weed breast,
Where the dark wave crawls through the sedge;
Where the bittern of the wilderness builds her nest,
In the flags of its oozy edge;
Where no sun shines through the live-long day,
Because of the blue-wreathed mist,
Where the cockatrice creeps her foul egg to lay,
And the speckled snake has hissed:
And bring me the flag that is moist with the wave,
And the rush where the heath-winds sigh,
And the hemlock plant, that flourishes so brave,
And the poppy, with its coal-black eye;
And weave them tightly, and weave them well,
The fever of my head to allay;–
And soon shall I faint with the death-weed smell,
And sleep these throbbings away.
And my hot, hot heart, that is fluttering so fast,
Shall shudder with a strange, cold thrill;
And the damp hand of Death o'er my forehead shall be passed,
And my lips shall be stiff and still.
And crystals of ice on my bosom shall arise,
Prest out from the shivering pore;
And oft shall it struggle with pent-up sighs,
But soon it shall struggle no more.
For the poppy on my head shall her cool breath shed,
And wind through the blue, blue tide;
And the bony wand of Death shall draw my last breath,
All by the dark stream side.
"La Belle Dame Sans Merci" - John Keats
I.
O WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms, | |
| Alone and palely loitering? | |
| The sedge has wither’d from the lake, | |
| And no birds sing. | |
|
II.
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. | |
|
III.
I see a lily on thy brow | |
| With anguish moist and fever dew, |
|
| And on thy cheeks a fading rose | |
| Fast withereth too. | |
|
IV.
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. | |
|
V.
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. | |
|
VI.
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. | |
|
VII.
She found me roots of relish sweet, | |
| And honey wild, and manna dew, | |
| And sure in language strange she said— | |
| “I love thee true.” | |
|
VIII.
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. | |
|
IX.
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. | |
|
X.
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!” |
|
|
XI.
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. | |
|
XII.
And this is why I sojourn here, | |
| Alone and palely loitering, | |
| Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake, | |
| And no birds sing. |
