Sam And The Highwayman (Cento) Poem by Spock the Vegan

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
He turned to me, and 'Cap, ' says he, I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, 'Lenore! '

The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters,
Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked

Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West.
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle, His pistol butts a-twinkle,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore

There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors, because of a promise given
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.

I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer
'Tis the wind and nothing more.' then the door I opened wide.
And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm
When they shot him down on the highway, Down like a dog on the highway

The Arctic trails have their secret tales
Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
I cremated Sam McGee.

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore
'One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'