...love lies hidden in every rose... - Alfred Noyes

The 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 — Riding — riding — The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

A thousand creeds and battle-cries, A thousand warring social schemes, A thousand new moralities,
And twenty thousand thousand dreams! Each on his own anarchic way, From the old order breaking free, — Our ruined world desires, you say, License, once more, not Liberty.

High in the old oak pulpit This Lord of all misrule— I think it was Will Summers That once was Shakespeare's fool — Held up his hand for silence, And all the church grew still: "And are you snoring yet," he said, "Or have you slept your fill?