the haunted palace

by alfred noyes

illustrated by rhoda penmarq and danny delacroix

Come to the haunted palace of my dreams, My crumbling palace by the eternal sea, Which, like a childless mother, still must croon Her ancient sorrows to the cold white moon, Or, ebbing tremulously, With one pale arm, where the long foam-fringe gleams, Will gather her rustling garments, for a space Of muffled weeping, round her dim white face. A princess dwelt here once: long, long ago This tower rose in the sunset like a prayer; And, through the witchery of that casement, rolled In one soft cataract of faëry gold Her wonder-woven hair; Her face leaned out and took the sacred glow Of evening, like the star that listened, high Above the gold clouds of the western sky. Was there no prince behind her in the gloom, No crimson shadow of his rich array? Her face leaned down to me: I saw the tears Bleed through her eyes with the slow pain of years, And her mouth yearned to say-- "Friend, is there any message, from the tomb Where love lies buried?" But she only said-- "Oh, friend, canst thou not save me from my dead? "Canst thou not minister to a soul in pain? Or hast thou then no comfortable word? Is there no faith in thee wherewith to atone For his unfaith who left me here alone, Heart-sick with hope deferred; Oh, since my love will never come again, Bring'st thou no respite through the desolate years, Respite from these most unavailing tears?" Then saw I, and mine own tears made response, Her woman's heart come breaking through her eyes; And, as I stood beneath the tower's grey wall, She let the soft waves of her deep hair fall Like flowers from Paradise Over my fevered face: then all at once Pity was passion; and like a sea of bliss Those waves rolled o'er me drowning for her kiss. * * * * Seven years we dwelt together in that tower, Seven years in that old palace by the sea, And sitting at that casement, side by side, She told me all her pain: how love had died Now for all else but me; Yet how she had loved that other: like a flower Her red lips parted and with low sweet moan She pressed their tender suffering on mine own. And always with vague eyes she gazed afar, Out through the casement o'er the changing tide; And slowly was my heart's hope brought to nought That some day I should win each wandering thought And make her my soul's bride: Still, still she gazed across the cold sea-bar; Ay; with her hand in mine, still, still and pale, Waited and watched for the unreturning sail. And I, too, watched and waited as the years Rolled on; and slowly was I brought to feel How on my lips she met her lover's kiss, How my heart's pulse begat an alien bliss; And cold and hard as steel For me those eyes were, though their tender tears Were salt upon my cheek; and then one night I saw a sail come through the pale moonlight. And like an alien ghost I stole away, And like a breathing lover he returned; And in the woods I dwelt, or sometimes crept Out in the grey dawn while the lovers slept And the great sea-tides yearned Against the iron shores; and faint and grey The tower and the shut casement rose above: And on the earth I sobbed out all my love. At last, one royal rose-hung night in June, When the warm air like purple Hippocrene Brimmed the dim valley and sparkled into stars, I saw them cross the foam-lit sandy bars And dark pools, glimmering green, To bathe beneath the honey-coloured moon: I saw them swim out from that summer shore, Kissed by the sea, but they returned no more. * * * * And into the dark palace, like a dream Remembered after long oblivious years, Through the strange open doors I crept and saw As some poor pagan might, with reverent awe, And deep adoring tears, The moonlight through that painted window stream Over the soft wave of their vacant bed; There sank I on my knees and bowed my head, For as a father by a cradle bows, Remembering two dead children of his own, I knelt; and by the cry of the great deep Their love seemed like a murmuring in their sleep, A little fevered moan, A little tossing of childish arms that shows How dreams go by! "If I were God," I wept, "I would have pity on children while they slept." * * * * The days, the months, the years drift over me; This is my habitation till I die: Nothing is changed; they left that open book Beside the window. Did he sit and look Up at her face as I Looked while she read it, and the enchanted sea With rich eternities of love unknown Fulfilled the low sweet music of her tone? So did he listen, looking in her face? And did she ever pause, remembering so The heart that bore the whole weight of her pain Until her own heart's love returned again? In the still evening glow I sit and listen in this quiet place, And only hear--like notes of phantom birds-- Their perished kisses and little broken words. _Come to the haunted palace of my dreams, My crumbling palace by the eternal sea, Which, like a childless mother, still must croon Her ancient sorrows to the cold white moon, Or, ebbing tremulously, With one pale arm, where the long foam-fringe gleams, Will gather her rustling garments, for a space Of muffled weeping, round her dim white face._

on a railway platform

by alfred noyes

illustrated by konrad kraus

A drizzle of drifting rain And a blurred white lamp o'erhead, That shines as my love will shine again In the world of the dead. Round me the wet black night, And, afar in the limitless gloom, Crimson and green, two blossoms of light, Two stars of doom. But the night of death is aflare With a torch of back-blown fire, And the coal-black deeps of the quivering air Rend for my soul's desire. Leap, heart, for the pulse and the roar And the lights of the streaming train That leaps with the heart of thy love once more Out of the mist and the rain. Out of the desolate years The thundering pageant flows; But I see no more than a window of tears Which her face has turned to a rose.

the highwayman

by alfred noyes

illustrated by konrad kraus and roy dismas

PART ONE I 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 came riding, up to the old inn-door. II 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 pistol butts a-twinkle, His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky. III 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. IV 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 hay, But he loved the landlord's daughter, The landlord's red-lipped daughter, Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say-- V "One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night, But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light; Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day, Then look for me by moonlight, Watch for me by moonlight, I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way." VI 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 came tumbling over his breast; And he kissed its waves in the moonlight, (Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!) Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West. PART TWO I He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon; And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon, When the road was a gipsy'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. II 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 their 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. III 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; Watch for me by moonlight; I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!_ IV She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good! She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or 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 one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers! V The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest! Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast, She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again; 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. VI _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 came riding, Riding, riding! The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still! VII 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. VIII He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood! Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey 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. IX 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, And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat. * * * * X _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._ XI _Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard; 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, Bess, the landlord's daughter, Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair._