Nareepol Tree

Inspired by La Belle Dame Sans Merci by Keats

Softly, Softly, Springs brisk morning air,
Creeps up upon you, with a sky so fair,
The Nobleman rode along the frosty path,
With his sword sheathed, alone at last,
Into the forest, amongst the melting snow,
This brave and honourable man did go.

Riding through the peaceful forest, all that could be heard was white stallion’s hooves, pressing on the crisp, frosty dirt trail. Coming across a trickling stream, he dismounted and led his steed to drink from the crystal clear water, quietly bubbling over the smooth pebbles.
A stunning willow tree in full blossom lay across the water, her branches dripping into the stream like a maiden washing her hair. The nobleman lifted his dark black cape and waded across, his leather boots effortlessly parting the water. He paused, breathing deeply, appreciating the scented blossom that permeated the crisp, fresh air. He sighed and wondered, ‘why did he have to leave this place?’

As he continued towards the willow, he noticed that the shape of the trunk was particular unusual. Someone had carved the figure of a beautiful young woman into the tree. She had an intricately delicate face with a beautifully shaped nose and lips, her hair frozen in wood, spread either side, her ample breast, swept along her cute stomach and perfectly smooth legs. ‘If only you were real, if only I could hold you’, the man thought, ‘You are beautiful enough to die for.’

‘I see a lily on thy brow

With anguish moist and fever dew,

And on thy cheek a fading rose’

He reached out and stroked her smooth cheek, as he did so he noticed that she was changing colour. Her cheeks flushed, the colour of life flowing back into her chest and limbs. Her eyes opened. They were a brilliant blue and as clear as the morning sky, her hair swept forward as black as the night, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

‘Full beautiful, a faery's child:

Her hair was long, her foot was light,

And her eyes were wild.’

She stood naked before him and wrapping her arms around him. Before he could speak she pressed her lips into his. Bliss, he thought, don’t question perfection. She began to undress him and before he knew it, they were locked in a lovers embrace.

‘She looked at me as she did love,

And made sweet moan.’

She spun him around, pushing him against the tree; she kissed him harder, smiling. He suddenly felt so tired, his legs felt so heavy.

‘I saw pale kings, and princes too,

Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;

Who cried--"La belle Dame sans Merci

Hath thee in thrall!"’

She broke away, and looking down, he realised that his legs were turning brown. He tried to move, but was stuck, he screamed, but made no sound.

He watched as the girl dressed in his clothes and went back across the stream to his horse, as she mounted, the colour black crept across his eyes, until he was completely enveloped in darkness.

‘And that is why I sojourn here,

Alone and palely loitering,

Though the sedge is withered from the lake,

And no birds sing.’

Softly, softly, spring’s brisk morning air,
Can lead you to women that are less than fair,
Even a man of noble blood can succumb,
And be left naked, cold and dumb,
If you do not question bliss,
Then you may well end up like this.