The Chihuey
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of modern gore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a yelping,
As of some one gently pawing, pawing at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “yelping at my chamber door—
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “More”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “More”—
Merely this and nothing more.
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a strut and swagger,
In there stepped a stately little dog of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, entered through my chamber door—
Squatting under a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
That fat thing just sat there, and nothing more.
Then this little chihuahua beguiled my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no hound,
Ghastly grim and ancient wolf wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy desire is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the doggie, “I want more.”
So I gave the demanding little dog some Lil' Smokies,
That for just such uninvited guests I kept in store.
I gave him one, then another, then yet another still,
But he kept wanting more, until finally he could eat no more,
Then he laid down upon the hearthrug and began to snore.
I know one thing, I ain't letting that damn dog in no more.