Explore "Tales of a Wayside Inn" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
One Autumn night, in Sudbury town, / Across the meadows bare and brown, / The windows of the wayside inn / Gleamed red with fire-light through the leaves / Of woodbine, hanging from the eaves / Their crimson curtains rent and thin.
As ancient is this hostelry / As any in the land may be, / Built in the old Colonial day, / When men lived in a grander way, / With ampler hospitality; / A kind of old Hobgoblin Hall, / Now somewhat fallen to decay, / With weather-stains upon the wall, / And stairways worn, and crazy doors, / And creaking and uneven floors, / And chimneys huge, and tiled and tall.