2003-06-06 at 9:12 p.m.

Once upon a evening chilly, while I giggled, loud and silly,

Over many a quaint and curious web page of disturbing lore,

While I chuckled, grief dispelling, suddenly there came a yelling,

As of some one loudly yelling, yelling near my chamber door.

`'Tis some flatmate,' I muttered, `yelling near my chamber door -

Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, directly I assume that it was in the dining room,

And a kind of doom and gloom wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished for quiet; - vainly I had sought to buy it

But that failed to cease the riot- riot near my bedroom door,

Near the loud and squeaky fixture that I choose to name my door-

Nameless here for evermore.

And the forceful loud decisive bellow of each voice outside

Bugged me - filled me with such irritation never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

`'Tis some flatmate yelling loudly near my chamber door -

Some drunk flatmate yelling loudly near my chamber door; -

This it is, and nothing more.'

Presently my heart grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

`Nat' said I, `or Michelle, truly your dear patience I implore;

I was working on my spelling, and so loudly you came yelling,

And so rudely you came yelling, yelling near my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -

Silence there, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a yelling somewhat louder than before.

`Surely,' said I, `surely that is someone wailing in the kitchen;

Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -

'Tis the stove and nothing more!'

Open here I flung my shutter, when, with many an obscene mutter,

In there came some tactless raving of the saintly days of yore.

Not the least obeisance made it; not an instant stopped or stayed it;

But, with mien of lord or lady, wafted in my chamber door -

Wafted past the linen cupboard and in through my chamber door -

Wafted in, and nothing more.

Such colourful language then beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the brash and stubborn decorum of the countenance it wore,

`Though thy sanity thou�art braving, thou,' I said, `are nothing saving.

Ghastly grim and ancient raving wandering from the nightly shore -

Tell me what thy lordly point is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'

Quoth the raving, �Shut up, bitch!�.

So. My flatmates have been screaming at each other a lot lately.

A pretty weak excuse for the butchering of a poetic masterwork, though.