and no birds sing.

La Belle Dame sans Merci

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!”

XI.

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. 

XII.

And this is why I sojourn here,

Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake, 

And no birds sing.

John Keats

Lily White Hand.

We'll go away this Spring to write.