Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume filled with lore obscure,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of something gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the sweltering ember
Of a summer, bright December—melons stacked upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
From my fruit a sweetened sorrow—sorrow for the love I bore—
For the round, green melon which no mortal could ignore—
Juicy green rind—nothing more.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some melon gently bleating at my chamber’s outer door—
Some lost fruit that’s softly bleating at my chamber’s outer door—
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir or Madam," I said sweetly, "truly your forgiveness, I implore;
But the fact is I was dozing, and so softly you came knocking,
And so faintly you were chewing, chewing at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"—here I flung wide open the door—
Watamelon there… no more.
Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, smiling, sneering,
Doubting, dreaming dreams of watermelons never dreamed before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Watamelon?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Watamelon?"—
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a bleating somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something melon-shaped and smug,
Let me see, then, what it passes, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore—
'Tis a fruit and nothing more!"
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a bounce and flutter,
In there stepped a round creation, rolling sweetly on the floor.
Not the least obeisance made she; not a minute stopped or stayed she;
But with cuteness not overrated, sat inside my chamber door—
Perched upon my carpet’s border just beside my chamber door—
Sat and was smug, and nothing more.
Then this green and round treasure, looked at me smugly leering,
Charmed me—filled me with delight I scarce had ever felt before;
"Though thy form be round and woolly, thou," I said, "art surely holy,
Melon-sheep of summer’s folly, rolling through my chamber door—
Tell me what thy sweetest name is rolling through my chamber door!"
Quoth the Watamelon, "Watamelon?"
"
