I was in english lecture and we came across this poem... saddening reli, bt reli reli nice... here it is
The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes
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 cam riding --
Riding -- riding
The highwayman came riding,
up to the old inn-door.
He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead,
a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet,
and breeches of brown doe-skin:
They fitted with never a wrinkle;
his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistols butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle,
under the jewelled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed
in the dark inn-yard
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters,
but all was locked and barred:
He whistled a tune to the window;
and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot
into her long, black hair
And dark in the dark old inn-yard
a stable wicket creaked
Where Tim, the ostler, listened;
his face was white and peaked,
His eyes were hollows of madness,
his hair like mouldy hair;
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter:
Dumb as a dog he listened,
and heard the robber say --
'One kiss, my bonny sweetheart,
I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold
before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply,
and harry me through day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight,
though Hell should bad the way.'
He rose upright in the stirrups,
he scarce could reach her hand;
But she loosened her hair i' the casement!
His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume
cam tumbling down her breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight)
Then he tugged at his reins in the moonlight,
and galloped away to the West.
He did not come in the dawning;
he did not come at noon;
And out of the tawny sunset,
before the rise o' moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon,
looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching --
Marching -- marching --
King George's men came marching,
up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord,
they drank his ale instead;
But they gagged his daughter and bound her
to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement,
with muskets at the side!
There was death at every window;
And Hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement,
the road that he would ride.
They had tied her up to attention,
with many a sniggering jest:
They had bound a musket beside her,
with the barrel beneath her breast!
'Now keep good watch!' and they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say --
Look for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight,
though Hell should bar the way!
She twisted her hands behind her;
but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers
were wet with sweat and blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness,
and the hours crawled by like years;
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of her finger touched it!
The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it;
she strove nor more for the rest!
Up, she stood up to attention,
with the barrel beneath her breast,
For the road lay bare in the moonlight
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the
Moonlight throbbed to her
Love's refrain.
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot! Had they heard it?
The horse-hoofs ringing clear --
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance;
Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight
over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman cam riding --
Riding--riding!
The red coats looked to their priming!
She stood up straight and still!
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence!
Tlot-tlot in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer!
Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment;
she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight
and warned him -- with her death.
He turned; he spurred him westward;
he did not know who stood
Bowed with her head o'er the musket,
drenched with her own red blood!
Not till dawn he heard it,
and slowly blanched to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her Love in the moonlight;
and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman,
shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him,
and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon;
wine-red was his velvet coat;
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
with the bunch of lace at his throat.
And still of a winter's night, they say,
When the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon
tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight
over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding --
Riding -- riding --
A highwayman comes riding,
up to the old inn-door
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed
in the dark inn-yard;
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters,
but all was locked and barred:
He whistled a tune to the window,
and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot
into her long, black hair.
