This, in fact, is not a ballad at all, but the name sounded musical enough. What musicality has to do with this, I do not know; I just liked the sound of the title.

During our class, we analyzed a painting — the one below — and the poem that inspired it (La Belle Dame Sans Merci by John Keats). Our task was to write our own thoughts on it in poetic form, and that sparked the first poem in this compendium. The rest that follow were either separate pieces that I found fit nicely with the first, or bits that I wrote specifically for this post. All the pieces tell the story of my interpretation on this painting, which I will not reveal; you will have to guess. If you know the original poem behind the image, it will make that task much easier.

La Belle Dame Sans Merci

— 1 —

Crimson hues, like setting suns

In my eye, like fire,

Stood against the blooming green —

The forest and the mire.

 

Rivers ran, with distance faded,

Running smooth and wide.

Her hair flowed ‘cross her saddlebags

When on her horse, she’d ride.

 

Behind me rose the mountain peaks —

All rising to the sky.

All around me beauty,

Yet she could hold my eye.

 

And though her eyes so sparkling bright

In ever withering fetterings,

Hold me like an iron cell,

In which fly sweet rememberings.

 

I can not wish forevermore

For death and shivering sleep.

She stole from me my setting sun;

My bloody heart will weep.

---

— 2 —

A life of waning joy, each moment lost

When soulless triviality corrupts.

How can a certainty where thoughts are tossed,

Catch hold enough when a mind will erupt.

---

— 3 —

I wished for something more than what we got.

Now, like a flock of birds gone from a tree,

I could lose it all — all my work for naught.

A rose turned to a blooming daisy, three

Times came the frost, but until now, the rose

Had held its petals; now my lost heart slows.

 

I wished for something more than what we got.

I wished for a placid consistency.

But what can be, may yet be what is not;

Will the dream stay just so? In time, we’ll see.

I wish for more… In time, we’ll see.

---

— 4 —

A blissful sleep for me is what will come.

The toiling mind of mine is wrought in pain.

Go forth, for me, for you, and for us both,

Lest rains come down to plague our sweet sunshine,

And drown what little of life yet remains

 

Of sadness, yes, I write, and toil in my

Mind breeds thoughts that fly like trapped hummingbirds,

Yet listen not to the weary speech, I

love for only one, one who loves me not.

And that is all.

 

Painting: https://cdn-04.independent.ie/entertainment/article36969500.ece/b7ea4/AUTOCROP/w620/2018-06-03_ent_41245950_I1.JPG