I have a project coming up and i have to present it as if i was going to do it in front of a crowd in a public place.. I'm Looking for a poem of a Lost Male Soul who has long passed away and returns to the earth once a year in search for his Long Lost Love.. for details on the figure it doesn't have to be Perfect or even in the poem, but i have to wear a black cloak with black clothing "Shirt, Pants, Shoes", a 5-6 foot sword, and carrying 2-3 Flowers.. Has to be Renaissance era, old English or a translation into English.. along with the original translation..
Thank you so much if you can find one.. i have looked everywhere and i have not found one i like yet..
Perhaps you could pinch some of the verses from this starting from "I met a lady in the meads" (acknowledging their source) and I think they would fit beautifully....
La Belle Dame Sans Merci
Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.
Oh 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, helong lost love poemsr 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 eyes
With kisses four.
And there she lulled me asleep
And there I dreamed--ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dreamed
On the cold hill's 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'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.
As you came from the holy land
Of Walsingham,
Met you not with my true love
By the way as you came?
"How shall I know your true love,
That have met many one,
I went to the holy land,
That have come, that have gone?&qlong lost love poemsuot;
She is neither white, nor brown,
But as the heavens fair;
There is none hath a form so divine
In the earth, or the air.
"Such a one did I meet, good sir,
Such an angelic face,
Who like a queen, like a nymph, did appear
By her gait, by her grace."
She hath left me here all alone,
All alone, as unknown,
Who sometimes did me lead with herself,
And me loved as her own.
"What's the cause that she leaves you alone,
And a new way doth take,
Who loved you once as her own,
And her joy did you make?"
I have lov'd her all my youth;
But now old, as you see,
Love likes not the falling fruit
From the withered tree.
Know that Love is a careless child,
And forgets promise past;
He is blind, he is deaf when he list,
And in faith never fast.
His desire is a dureless content,
And a trustless joy:
He is won with a world of despair,
And is lost with a toy.
Of womenkind such indeed is the love,
Or the word love abus'd,
Under which many childish desires
And conceits are excus'd.
But true love is a durable fire,
In the mind ever burning,
Never sick, never old, never dead,
From itself never turning.
[Walter Raleigh]
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