THE moon is full, and so am I; The night is late, the ale was good; And I must go two miles and more Along a country road. Now what is this that's drawing near? It seems a man, and tall; But where the face should show its white I see no white at all. Where is his face: or do I see The back part of his head, And, with his face turned round about, He walks this way? I said. He's close at hand, but where's the face? What devil is this I see? I'm glad my body's warm with ale, There's trouble here for me. I clutch my staff, I make a halt, "His blood or mine," said I. "Good night," the black man said to me, As he went passing by. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NOTHING GOLD CAN STAY by ROBERT FROST SATIRES: 51. UPON NOTHING by JOHN WILMOT THE LEPRECAUN, OR THE FAIRY SHOEMAKER by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM NOT DEAD, BUT GONE BEFORE by ANTIPHANES TO MY FRIEND MR. THOMAS FLATMAN, ON THE PUBLISHING OF THESE HIS POEMS by FRANCIS BARNARD (D. 1698) ANYWHERE OUT OF THE WORLD by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE THE PAGODA by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN ON THE DEATH OF AN OLD TOWNSMAN by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |