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(From Prelude)
ONE autumn night, in Sudbury town, | |
| Across the meadows bare and brown, | |
| The windows of the wayside inn | |
| Gleamed red with firelight through the leaves | |
| Of woodbine, hanging from the eaves | 5 |
| Their crimson curtains rent and thin. | |
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| As ancient is this hostelry | |
| As any in the land may be, | |
| Built in the old Colonial day, | |
| When men lived in a grander way, | 10 |
| With ampler hospitality; | |
| A kind of old Hobgoblin Hall, | |
| Now somewhat fallen to decay, | |
| With weather-stains upon the wall, | |
| And stairways worn, and crazy doors, | 15 |
| And creaking and uneven floors, | |
| And chimneys huge and tiled and tall. | |
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| A region of repose it seems, | |
| A place of slumber and of dreams, | |
| Remote among the wooded hills! | 20 |
| For there no noisy railway speeds, | |
| Its torch-race scattering smoke and gleeds; | |
| But noon and night, the panting teams | |
| Stop under the great oaks, that throw | |
| Tangles of light and shade below, | 25 |
| On roofs and doors and window-sills; | |
| Across the road the barns display | |
| Their lines of stalls, their mows of hay; | |
| Through the wide doors the breezes blow; | |
| The wattled cocks strut to and fro, | 30 |
| And, half effaced by rain and shine, | |
| The Red Horse prances on the sign. | |
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| Round this old-fashioned, quaint abode | |
| Deep silence reigned, save when a gust | |
| Went rushing down the county road, | 35 |
| And skeletons of leaves, and dust, | |
| A moment quickened by its breath, | |
| Shuddered and danced their dance of death, | |
| And through the ancient oaks o’erhead | |
| Mysterious voices moaned and fled. | 40 |
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