And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes.

I wish I was either in your arms full of faith, or that a Thunder bolt would strike me.

No sooner had I stepp'd into these pleasures Than I began to think of rhymes and measures: The air that floated by me seem'd to say 'Write! thou wilt never have a better day.

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.

Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?

With a great poet the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or rather obliterates all consideration.

All clean and comfortable I sit down to write.