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La Belle Dame Sans Merci by rosafelix
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Tote Bag
La Belle Dame Sans Merci by rosafelix
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La Belle Dame Sans Merci Tote Bag

La Belle Dame Sans Merci Tote Bag

La Belle Dame Sans Merci Tote Bag
La Belle Dame Sans Merci Tote Bag
La Belle Dame Sans Merci Tote Bag
Tote Bag
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La Belle Dame Sans Merci by
$20.99
Size

Our quality crafted Tote Bags are hand sewn in America using durable, yet lightweight, poly poplin fabric. All seams and stress points are double stitched for durability. They are washable, feature original artwork on both sides and a sturdy 1" wide cotton webbing strap for comfortably carrying over your shoulder.

Made to order
Each Society6 product is individually printed and assembled when you order it, so please allow 3-5 days manufacture time for your custom product.
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Society6 artists live all over the world, and every purchase puts money right in their pockets. We’ve been helping artists do what they love since 2009.

“La Belle Dame Sans Merci” John Keats

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering? The sedge has withered 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 cheeks 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 looked 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 sidelong would she bend, 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 wild eyes With kisses four.

And there she lullèd me asleep, And there I dreamed—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 gapèd wide, And I awoke and found me here, On the cold hill’s side.

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

Collage, poem, vintage, scary, woman, ghost, forest.

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