The Raven (-Haired Hobbit)
Disclaimer:
Sorry Poe, sorry Tolkien, I am messing with your works of art.
Once upon a midnight dreamy, while I pondered fanfic steamy,
Over quaint and curious volumes in the realm of Valinor,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at the Bag End door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at the Bag End door -
Only this, and nothing more.'
Ah, distinctly I remember it was sometime in December,
And each separate dying ember cooked a slice of toast or four.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow I could not ignore -
For the rare and radiant hobbit who had left in times of war -
From the Shire for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic tremors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at the Bag End door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at the Bag End door; -
This it is, and nothing more.'
Presently my heart grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.
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 darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Ph-wooar!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Ph-woooar!'
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, as my stack of toast was burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at the window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'
Open then I flung the shutter, thoughts returning to the gutter,
for in stepped a gorgeous hobbit, and I fell swooning to the floor.
Not the least obeisance made he; but his beauty truly slayed me;
And, with eyes to stun a Harem, strolled he through the Bag End door -
Leaned upon a bust of Varda just above my chamber door -
Leaned, and stood, and nothing more.
Then this fair creature beguiling me to skid across the tiling,
By the sweet and fine decorum of the countenance he wore,
Oh, by he I was enslaven, and I thought of misbehavin’
Ivory skin and hair of raven wandering from the nightly shore -
‘Tell me lord, will you stay here on this Tol Eressean shore!'
Quoth the hobbit, `Evermore.'
Much I marvelled this glorious jewel to speak discourse so plainly,
Though his answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with beauty such as this upon my floor -
Elf or Man beside the sculptured bust upon the Bag End floor,
Evoking words like `phwooar.'
But the hobbit, standing stirring up my lust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - but my heartstrings greatly fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other dreams have flown before -
On the morrow will he leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the Squire said, `Nevermore.'
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `as he’s answered, we need not speak any more,’
and I moved to fall with passion, as has always been the fashion
of a lass who dwells in BEWTE on the Tol Eressea shore -
for to stroke the silky shoulders which the evil burden bore
For ever, evermore.
Since the hobbit’s words might fail him ere I had the chance to nail him,
Straight I leapt into his lap and scattered books upon the floor;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this hobbit fair who I adore -
What this lovely, slender, dark-haired, and delicious Squire I adore
Meant in purring `Nevermore.'
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the Squire whose gorgeous eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On his chest’s velvet tawny lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose curly burnished locks with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
I shall stroke, ah, evermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by angels (otherwise it was the toast charred on the floor.)
`Oh,' I cried, `Eru hath lent thee - by His angels he has sent thee!’
For tangled in his silken curls I wished my fingers to explore
kiss, oh kiss his lips so tender, as I fingered each suspender
for I hungered much to shag him, there upon the Bag End floor.
`Sweetheart!' said I, `thing of Beauty! - hottie still, if saint or angel! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Delectable yet all undaunted, on this quiet land enchanted -
On this home all elven haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in BEWTE? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the hobbit, `Evermore.'
`Frodo!' said I, `lovely Baggins! - our Ringbearer, curse to evil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by the Valar we adore -
Tell this soul with desire laden if, perchance I am no maiden,
I shall clasp a sainted hobbit whom the angels would adore -
Clasp a rare and radiant hobbit, who makes lasses shriek out “cor!”?'
Quoth the hobbit, `Evermore.'
`Be that word our call to shagging, sensual flame!' I cried upstarting -
`Get thee straight into the bedroom and thy clothes upon the floor!
Leave the One Shirt as a token of the words thy soul hath spoken!
Or my poor heart will be broken! - I am desperate to score!
Take thy tongue from out my ear, and get yourself upon the floor!'
Quoth the hobbit, `Evermore.'
And the hobbit, never straying, still is staying, still is staying
With the bosom-heaving lasses just beyond the Bag End door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of an angel's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And the Harem by that hobbit that lies swooning on the floor
Shall not leave him - evermore!