POEMS OLD AND NEW

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 clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard ;
And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked

and barred ;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be

waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, 10

Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

ALFRED NOYES

94