And still on 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 gypsy's ribbon looping the purple moor,The highwayman comes riding--Riding--riding--The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.― Alfred Noyes, The Highwayman It's a stormy night and well past …
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