this poem was written by Alfred Noyes
and it's called "The Highwayman"
here is the romantic narrative poem
in all it's beauty

the wind was a torrent of darkness in the gusty trees
the moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas
and the road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor
and the highwayman came riding
riding, riding
oh, the highwayman came riding
up to the old inn door

over the cobbles he clattered
and clashed in the dark inn yard
and he tapped with his whip on the window
but all was locked and barred
so 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

one kiss, my bonny sweetheart
for i'm after prize tonight
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
oh, then look for me by moonlight
watch for me by moonlight
and [bad word] to thee by moonlight
though [bad word] should bar the way

he did [bad word] at the dawning
he did [bad word] at the noon
and out of the tawny sunset
before the rise of the moon
when the road was a gypsy's ribbon
over the purple moor
oh the redcoat troops came marching
marching, marching
King George's men came marching
up to the old inn door

and they bound the landlord's daughter
with many a sniggering jest
and they bound the musket beside her
with the barrel beneath her breast
"now, keep good watch!", and they kissed her
she heard the dead man say,
"oh, look for me by moonlight
watch for me by moonlight
and [bad word] to thee by moonlight
though [bad word] should bar the way."

look for me by moonlight
hoofbeats ringing clear
watch for me by moonlight
were they deaf, that they did not hear?
for he rode on the gypsy highway
she breathed one final breath
then her finger moved in the moonlight
the musket shattered the moonlight
and it shattered her breast in the moonlight
and warned him with her death

he turned, he spurred on to the west
for he did not know who stood
bowed, with her black hair flowing down
drenched with her own red blood
no, not till the dawn had he heard it
and his face grew grave 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 in the golden moon
wine-red 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 a 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
oh, the [bad word] riding
riding, riding
yes, the [bad word] riding
up to the old inn door