Distant footsteps, a gunshot in the night, a baby crying, trash cans rattling, these are all sounds common to our streets. It's an ordinary night all save for the lone voice, a melody on the wind. Following the nightingales song, you stumble upon a lone figure. She plays the violin so effortlessly singing out a familar tune

O what can ail thee, knight at arms,

Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge has wither'd from the lake,

 and no birds sing.

O what can ail thee, knight at arms,

So haggard and so woe-begone?

The squirrel's granary is full,

and the havest's done.

I see a lilly on thy brow

With anguish moist and fever dea,

And on thy cheeksa fading rose

Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads,

Full beautiful, a fairly'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 look'd at me as she did love,

And made sweet moan.

I set her on my pacing steed,

And nothingelse saw all day long,

Fof sidelong would she bend and sing

A fairly's song.

She found 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 sigh'd full sore,

And there I shut her wild eyes

With kisses four.

And there she lulled me asleep,

And there I dream'd--Ah! Woe betide!

The latest dream I ever dream'd

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 starv'd lips in the gloom

With horrid warning gaped wide,

And I awoke an found me here

On the cold hill's side.

And this is why I sojourn here,

Alone and palely loitering,

Through the sedge is withere'd from the lake,

And no birds sing.

She looks up at you beseaching, eyes a shimmering gray. Before you can blink she's gone, reclaimed by the night that bore her.