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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=336915" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The highwayman</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees. <br>The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas. <br>The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, <br>And the highwayman came riding— <br>Riding—riding— <br>The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin, <br>A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin. <br>They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the thigh. <br>And he rode with a jewelled twinkle, <br>His pistol butts a-twinkle, <br>His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard. <br>He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred. <br>He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there <br>But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, <br>Bess, the landlord's daughter, <br>Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked <br>Where Tim the ostler listened. His face was white and peaked. <br>His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay, <br>But he loved the landlord's daughter, <br>The landlord's red-lipped daughter. <br>Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say— </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night, <br>But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light; <br>Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day, <br>Then look for me by moonlight, <br>Watch for me by moonlight, <br>I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand, <br>But she loosened her hair in the casement. His face burnt like a brand <br>As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast; <br>And he kissed its waves in the moonlight, <br>(O, sweet black waves in the moonlight!) <br>Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">PART TWO </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He did not come in the dawning. He did not come at noon; <br>And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon, <br>When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor, <br>A red-coat troop came marching— <br>Marching—marching— <br>King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">They said no word to the landlord. They drank his ale instead. <br>But they gagged his daughter, and bound her, to the foot of her narrow bed. <br>Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side! <br>There was death at every window; <br>And hell at one dark window; <br>For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest. <br>They had bound a musket beside her, with the muzzle beneath her breast! <br>"Now, keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the doomed man say— <br>Look for me by moonlight; <br>Watch for me by moonlight; <br>I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good! <br>She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood! <br>They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years <br>Till, now, on the stroke of midnight, <br>Cold, on the stroke of midnight, <br>The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The tip of one finger touched it. She strove no more for the rest. <br>Up, she stood up to attention, with the muzzle beneath her breast. <br>She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again; <br>For the road lay bare in the moonlight; <br>Blank and bare in the moonlight; <br>And the blood of her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horsehoofs ringing clear; <br>Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear? <br>Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill, <br>The highwayman came riding— <br>Riding—riding— <br>The red coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night! <br>Nearer he came and nearer. Her face was like a light. <br>Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath, <br>Then her finger moved in the moonlight, <br>Her musket shattered the moonlight, <br>Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He turned. He spurred to the west; he did not know who stood <br>Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own blood! <br>Not till the dawn he heard it, and his face grew grey to hear <br>How Bess, the landlord's daughter, <br>The landlord's black-eyed daughter, <br>Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky, <br>With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high. <br>Blood red were his spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat; <br>When they shot him down on the highway, <br>Down like a dog on the highway, <br>And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees, <br>When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, <br>When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, <br>A highwayman comes riding— <br>Riding—riding— <br>A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard. <br>He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred. <br>He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there <br>But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, <br>Bess, the landlord's daughter, <br>Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Alfred+Noyes">Alfred Noyes</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=336915" data-title="The highwayman de Alfred Noyes" data-description="The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees. /The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas. /The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, /And the highwayman came riding— /Riding—riding— /The highwayman cam..."></div>
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