Classic Poem

I

Once upon a midnight dreary, as I chuckled weak and weary
Over many a saintly " Spinster " and unsaintly " Troubadour "
While I chortled nearly splitting, suddenly there came hitting
As of someone gently kicking, biffing at my chamber door,
Only that and nothing more.

II

And the rustling of the stitches on my Sunday pair of britches
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before.
So my faint heart to be quelling, I stood up while loudly yelling
" Hurry up, come in, you idiots, and be sure to close the door "
Silence there and nothing more.

III

Presently my wrath grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
I walked over to the threshold and threw wide my chamber door
Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing,
Hearing muchly to be smitten with a rotten apple core.
Merely this and nothing more.

IV

Back into my chamber turning, all my heart within me burning
Soon again I hear the biffing, somewhat louder than before
" Surely " said I " surely that is eggs against my window lattice
For it soundeth like the shoes of Brother Mike upon the floor.
That it is and nothing more. "

V

Open wide I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately chicken of the saintly days of yore
Not the least obeisance made she; not an instant stopped or stayed she.
Perching on the bust of Bill Nye just above my chamber door,
Laid an egg upon the floor.

VI

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer,
Swung by editors whose footsteps tinkled in the corridor
" Wretch " I cried " A spirit lent thee — but to haunt we here he sent thee.
Get thee hence, and never darken with thy wing my chamber door! "
Quoth the chicken " Nevermore. "

VII

" Prophet " said I " Thing of evil! — prophet still, if hen or devil,
Tell me, will Ol! Herriott ever get a read-nuttance more?
Will Fourteenth Street gate be cut through, and the happy children butt through?
And won't they have to go around the long way as before? "
Crowed the chicken, " Nevermore! "

VIII

" Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend, " I shrieked, upstarting
" Take thy feet from off my Bill Nye and thy eggs from off my door! "
But the chicken never flitting, on my Bill Nye still is sitting,
And the egg that lies within the shadow floating on the floor
Shall be lifted — Nevermore!