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.

Life, Letters, and Literary Remains, of John Keats (ed. 1848)