La Belle Dame Sans Merci is a word in my dictionary

It all really began for me with this one poem—this whole secret language that evoked a doorway to a realm that I forever was a citizen of 

This one poem by Keats in my tenth grade English Literature class as I was desperately searching for meaning those words pulled me under his spell 

But then there was this …. which is my favorite painting Waterhouse’s style is often grouped with PreRaphaelite~his style and principles would be of the genre but he was not in the ‘Brotherhood’ 

La Belle Dame Sans Merci by John William Waterhouse 1849-1917

Here is the Poem that inspired the painting 

La Belle Dame Sans Merci by John Keats 1795-1821

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
  Alone and palely loitering;
The sedge is withered from the lake, 
  And no birds sing.

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
  So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full, 
  And the harvest's done.

I see a lilly 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 set her on my pacing steed,
  And nothing else saw all day long;
For sideways would she lean, and sing 
  A faery's song.

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.

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 gazed and sighed deep,
And there I shut her wild sad eyes—
  So kissed to sleep.

And there we slumbered on the moss,
  And there I dreamed, ah woe betide,
The latest dream I ever dreamed 
  On the cold hill side.

I saw pale kings, and princes too,
  Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
Who 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 side.

And this is why I sojourn here 
  Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
  And no birds sing.