When, as the mist dissolves in the yellow morning tide,
The maidens’ trance dissolveth so.
Then fly the ghastly three as swiftly as they may,
And tell their tale of sorrow to anxious friends in vain——
They pined away and died within the year and day,
And ne’er was Anna Grace seen again.
Samuel Ferguson
LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI
Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,