In the last issue of The New Yorker, there is a poem by Rahel Hadas, with a reference to La Belle Dame Sans Merci:


As months and years accumulate,
I miss you more and more.
Forgetting where I put the key,
I sometimes find a door

and other times feel stunned and lost,
though living in my own
body and life, presumably,
bewildered and alone

as he knight, kidnapped and released
to a dim world, who said
A I awoke and found me here
on the cold hill side.

...just in case someone else will like it, too.