D'Artagnan

The road to Paris stretches broad ahead;
     From side to side great trees their shadows throw
     Across the moon-bathed path. A hidden foe
Lurks in the forest shade, may hap, where spread
The royal oaks. The world is still and dead,
     Save for the horseman, riding hard, bent low
     Upon his horse's lathered neck, as though
On pilgrimage of life and death he sped.

D'Artagnan! Gad, the name seems to enthrall!
     Duellist, soldier, Gascon, I would give
     A year of life for just one hour's delight
With you, in court or camp or tavern brawl;
     But most — and always will the picture live —
     For one mad dash to Paris in the night.