Love, Mercilessly Forlorn

La Belle Dame Sans Merci
Sir Frank Dicksee

You can find him there on the Faerie Moor
alone, clutching at wisps
frozen forever by the motion of her elfin lips
Clad in rusted armor, sword forsworn
rasping of lost love, mercilessly forlorn.

I asked him once what he thought of love
he espied a bee swooping down upon
the sedge, remarking that flowers withered
be, that all young lovers should come and see
the sojourn of such vital tragedy.

The Knight of Arms wastes away by the lonely lake
dispensing wisdom and sorrow for any who
will come partake.
He dared to dream of mythical things
lured into this mystical traps by beautiful ideas
this cold creature that moaning sings.