Blood on the Tracks

Hank Moody says Dylan's Blood on the Tracks is a great heartbreak album, but if 18th century poems work for you, this one's good.

O, what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge is wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing.

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.

I see a lily 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 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.

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.

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 wept and sighed full sore,
And there I shut her wild sad eyes
With kisses four.

And there she lulled me asleep,
And there I dream'd --- ah! woe betide! ---
The latest dream I ever dreamt
On the cold hill side.

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!'

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 wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.

Why do we read poetry?

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, "O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?" Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?