Once within an autumn dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Of the only actress playing in my half-forgotten lore,
While I nodded—nearly napping, which is something oft does happen,
When some actors try the tapping, tapping of my written lore;
Someone muttered, “Not his writing.” This has sure been said before.
Only this, and nothing more.
* * * * *
Open then I flung the shutter, and with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a lengthy Yankee from Columbia’s shore;
Not the least obeisance made he, not an instant stopped or stayed he;