The Tavern

 Whenever I go by there nowadays 
And look at the rank weeds and the strange grass, 
The torn blue curtains and the broken glass, 
I seem to be afraid of the old place; 
And something stiffens up and down my face,
For all the world as if I saw the ghost 
Of old Ham Amory, the murdered host, 
With his dead eyes turned on me all aglaze.
 

The Tavern has a story, but no man 
Can tell us what it is.
 We only know
That once long after midnight, years ago, 
A stranger galloped up from Tilbury Town, 
Who brushed, and scared, and all but overran 
That skirt-crazed reprobate, John Evereldown.

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