Seeing as its Valentines day

Discussion in 'Diamond Lil's' started by Rumrat, Feb 14, 2013.

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  1. So a few on here may know of my passing flirtation with verse.
    Here is true talent both written and in melody exposing my "soft side".
    One of the most romantic,( yes Wrecker romantic) poems ever written.
    But with attitude thrown in.

    IMHO.Loreena McKennitt- The Highwayman - YouTube

    [TABLE="align: left"]
    [TD="align: left"][SIZE=+1]Alfred Noyes (1880-1958)[/SIZE]
    The Highwayman
    T[SIZE=-2]HE[/SIZE] 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—
    The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
    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.
    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.
    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—
    "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."
    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 moonliglt, and galloped away to the West.

    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 gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
    A red-coat troop came marching—
    King George's men came matching, up to the old inn-door.
    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.
    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!
    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!
    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 .
    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!
    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.
    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.
    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.
    * * * * * *
    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—
    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.

    Last edited: Feb 14, 2013
  2. Who gave the daughter the black eyes?
  3. Thought I was the only one who had even heard of Loreena McKennit! Came across a couple of her albums in the States a while back. Trying to get any more from HMV met with a blank look and "who????????" Philistines!
  4. Well I've been to her concert a while back.
    Nah nah na nah nah.
    She's 55 now and still do able but when she was younger oh boy.
    She plays the harp as well as sings and Dante's Prayer is fantastic IMHO.
    See not everything from Canada is boring.
  5. Did a lot of work with Enya on some of the sound track to "Lord of the Rings" if memory serves. I like the stuff she wrote in Marrakesh which is awesome!
  6. roses are red
    violets are blue
    fuck off you soft cunts
    i'm off down the pub.
    • Like Like x 3
  7. Meeting the boyfriend early?
  8. Nope, just going to sit in a dark corner and wank myself into a coma hoping that the female paramedic gives me the kiss of life. Wish me luck.
  9. Good Luck.
    • Like Like x 1
  10. Catchy but lacks the romance of my favourite:

    Roses are red
    Violets are blue
    Get in the van
    I've got a knife
    • Like Like x 2
  11. Blackrat

    Blackrat War Hero Moderator Book Reviewer

    I buy you flowers
    Your happy face
    My lump hammer smiles more
  12. Be my Valentine?

    I got a card and some choccies for Valentines Day. The chocolate shaped
    hearts travelled all the way from CHINA FFS! (That's what it said on the
    bottom of the box *Made In China*). But Valentines Day got me wondering.
    Why is it that everything, but EVERYTHING appertaining to l-u-r-v-e seems
    to concentrate on only one internal human organ? (i.e. - the heart)?????
    I mean - the rest of your inside gristly bits must be getting really hacked
    off what with being totally ignored every fu**ing year. They deserve a bit
    of recognition as well y'know.
    So - with that in mind, I've come up with a sort of "top ten" l-u-r-v-e songs
    that give all those pulsating gooey parts that have been side-lined for so
    long the recognition they deserve:-

    (1). I left my lungs in San Francisco
    (2). Total eclipse of the bladder
    (3). Don't go breaking my colon
    (4). Love me with all of your liver
    (5). Anyone who had a spleen
    (6). Zing went the strings of my pancreas
    (7). My rectum belongs to daddy
    (8 ). Unchain my urethra
    (9). Somethings got a hold of my gall bladder
    (10). Intestines of glass

    They should make a romantic CD of this lot and we can put it on just
    before sitting down to a nice meal for two when the kids are in bed,
    although when Marilyn Monroe comes on singing Number 7 - I think
    the romantic interlude could be shattered by me spitting black forest
    gateau all over the dining room table.

    * * * * * *
    • Like Like x 1
  13. Blackrat

    Blackrat War Hero Moderator Book Reviewer

    Look you cunts. I did a Haiku. None of this roses are red bollocks. I'm cultured.

    • Like Like x 1
  14. Blackrat

    Blackrat War Hero Moderator Book Reviewer

    You enter my house
    Smell my hankerchief
    The shackles leave deep impressions
  15. "Roses are Red
    Violets are blue
    I got you this card
    Now give us a blowjob"

  16. Blackrat

    Blackrat War Hero Moderator Book Reviewer

    Oh fuck it. If you can't beat them....

    Roses are red,
    Ivy is twisted,
    Bend over love,
    You're gonna get fisted.
  17. Ivy may well be twisted
    Roses may be be red
    Try fistin me fucktard,
    I'll take of your head.

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