The detail above, from the
painting La Belle Dame sans Merci by English artist, Sir Frank Dicksee,
(1853-1928) was based upon the poem by John Keats. Born to a family
of artists, Dicksee enjoyed a broad acceptance in his lifetime. His
works included biblical and historical subjects as well as allegorical
themes.
Several other artists were inspired by Keats, including John William
Waterhouse and Frank C. Cowper.
Waterhouse Detail
World
Folklore is rich with tales of romance between mortals and those of
Otherworld realms. Passionate stories of lovers who seldom considered
what tomorrow would bring.
The resulting union always drawing one away from their familiar world.
The terrible longing for home which followed, would often drive them
from one another, sometimes forever.
Among these moving tales is the Irish story of  Niam
and Oisin
Other
Poets :
Lore of Poetry will
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La Belle
Dame sans Merci
John
Keats
(1795--1821)
Oh
what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone
and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake,
And
no birds sing.
Oh 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 cheek 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 looked 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 sighed full sore,
And there I shut her wild eyes
With
kisses four.
And there she lulled me asleep
And
there I dreamed--ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dreamed
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 starved 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 withered from the lake,
And
no birds sing.
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