Classic Poem

(AFTER EDGAR ALLAN POE)

The skies they were ashen and sober,
The streets they were dirty and drear;
It was night in the month of October,
Of my most immemorial year
Like the skies, I was perfectly sober,
As I stopped at the mansion of Shear, —
At the Nightingale, — perfectly sober,
And the willowy woodland down here.

Here, once in an alley Titanic
Of Ten-pins, I roamed with my soul, —
Of Ten-pins, with Mary, my soul;
They were days when my heart was volcanic,
And impelled me to frequently roll,
And made me resistlessly roll,
Till my ten-strikes created a panic
In the realms of the Boreal pole, —
Till my ten-strikes created a panic
With the monkey atop of his pole.

I repeat, I was perfectly sober,
But my thoughts they were palsied and sear, —
My thoughts were decidedly queer;
For I knew not the month was October,
And I marked not the night of the year;
I forgot that sweet morceau of Auber
That the band oft performed down here,
And I mixed the sweet music of Auber
With the Nightingale's music by Shear.

And now as the night was senescent,
And star-dials pointed to morn,
And car-drivers hinted of morn,
At the end of the path a liquescent
And bibulous lustre was born;
'Twas made by the bar-keeper present,
Who mixed a duplicate horn, —
His two hands describing a crescent
Distinct with a duplicate horn.

And I said: " This looks perfectly regal,
For it's warm, and I know I feel dry, —
I am confident that I feel dry
We have come past the emeu and eagle,
And watched the gay monkey on high;
Let us drink to the emeu and eagle,
To the swan and the monkey on high, —
To the eagle and monkey on high;
For this bar-keeper will not inveigle,
Bully boy with the vitreous eye, —
He surely would never inveigle,
Sweet youth with the crystalline eye "

But Mary, uplifting her finger,
Said: " Sadly this bar I mistrust, —
I fear that this bar does not trust
Oh, hasten! oh, let us not linger!
Oh, fly, — let us fly, — are we must! "
In terror she cried, letting sink her
Parasol till it trailed in the dust;
In agony sobbed, letting sink her
Parasol till it trailed in the dust, —
Till it sorrowfully trailed in the dust.

Then I pacified Mary and kissed her,
And tempted her into the room,
And conquered her scruples and gloom;
And we passed to the end of the vista,
But were stopped by the warning of doom, —
By some words that were warning of doom
And I said, " What is written, sweet sister,
At the opposite end of the room? "
She sobbed, as she answered, " All liquors
Must be paid for ere leaving the room. "

Then my heart it grew ashen and sober,
As the streets were deserted and drear,
For my pockets were empty and drear;
And I cried: " It was surely October,
On this very night of last year,
That I journeyed, I journeyed down here, —
That I brought a fair maiden down here,
On this night of all nights in the year!
Ah! to me that inscription is clear;
Well I know now, I'm perfectly sober,
Why no longer they credit me here, —
Well I know now that music of Auber,
And this Nightingale, kept by one Shear. "