Oh What Can Ail Thee, Knight-at-arms, Alone

The Thought, The Deadly Thought Of Solitude.

Feeling Well That Breathed Words Would All Be Lost, Unheard, And Vain As Swords Against The Enchased Crocodile, Or Leaps Of Grasshoppers Against The Sun.

Tall Oaks Branch Charmed By The Earnest Stars Dream And So Dream All Night Without A Stir.

I Never Was In Love - Yet The Voice And The Shape Of A Woman Has Haunted Me These Two Days.

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!