I never wrote you a love song
Somehow words could not express what I needed to say.
And so I never wrote you a love song
And now its much, much too late 'cause you've gone away

But I will build this monument
To remember all the love we once had
And I'll close my eyes and make it how it used to be
I swear I never stopped loving you with everything I am
And it hurts so much to think you stopped loving me
You stopped loving me...

So I wish I'd had written you a love song
And somehow you understood what it feels to be me
Because the Angel loves the sprite forever
And does it unconditionally

But I will build this monument
To remember all the love we once had
And I'll close my eyes and make it how it used to be
I swear I never stopped loving you with everything I am
And it hurts so much to think you stopped loving me
You stopped loving me...

(excerpt from La Belle Dame Sans Merci by W.B. Keats - 1819)

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 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.