Poetic Ponderings, October 27th

Poetic Ponderings at the Caledon Library
Wednesday, October  27
4pm SLT
Caledon Library Meeting Rooms, Caledon Victoria City
http://slurl.com/secondlife/Caledon%20Victoria%20City/155/118/23

The 19th century was a time of poetic inspiration and innovation.  In both style and subject, poets experimented with characterizing their emotions and perceptions within the frame of verse. At the beginning of the century the Romantic school, in reaction against Enlightenment ideals, sought inspiration in the workings of intuition and in pastoral settings.  In mid-century, Emily Dickinson wrote of death and immortality, drawing on her own rarefied sensibility and using the unconventional device of slant rhyme. At the end of the century William Butler Yeats made the Celtic twilight come alive for his readers.  Our series will read and consider these poets and more, focusing on the force and individuality of the poetic voice. Join us for a new poem each month.

Here is our poem for this month:

La Belle Dame Sans Merci
 
John Keats (1795-1821)
 
 
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.