THE wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
There are two parts to this fabulous, romantic poem. Many of you know this verse but some might not have been exposed to the dashing Highwayman, whom I have loved since I first read this work. Tomorrow I'd like to post another segment.