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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=343722" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Nightmare: A Tale for an Autumn Evening</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">After a Print by George Cruikshank</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It was a gusty night,<br>With the wind booming, and swooping,<br>Looping round corners,<br>Sliding over the cobble-stones,<br>Whipping and veering,<br>And careering over the roofs<br>Like a thousand clattering horses.<br>Mr. Spruggins had been dining in the city,<br>Mr. Spruggins was none too steady in his gait,<br>And the wind played ball with Mr. Spruggins<br>And laughed as it whistled past him.<br>It rolled him along the street,<br>With his little feet pit-a-patting on the flags of the sidewalk,<br>And his muffler and his coat-tails blown straight out behind him.<br>It bumped him against area railings,<br>And chuckled in his ear when he said 'Ouch!'<br>Sometimes it lifted him clear off his little patting feet<br>And bore him in triumph over three grey flagstones and a quarter.<br>The moon dodged in and out of clouds, winking.<br>It was all very unpleasant for Mr. Spruggins,<br>And when the wind flung him hard against his own front door<br>It was a relief,<br>Although the breath was quite knocked out of him.<br>The gas-lamp in front of the house flared up,<br>And the keyhole was as big as a barn door;<br>The gas-lamp flickered away to a sputtering blue star,<br>And the keyhole went out with it.<br>Such a stabbing, and jabbing,<br>And sticking, and picking,<br>And poking, and pushing, and prying<br>With that key;<br>And there is no denying that Mr. Spruggins rapped out an oath or two,<br>Rub-a-dub-dubbing them out to a real snare-drum roll.<br>But the door opened at last,<br>And Mr. Spruggins blew through it into his own hall<br>And slammed the door to so hard<br>That the knocker banged five times before it stopped.<br>Mr. Spruggins struck a light and lit a candle,<br>And all the time the moon winked at him through the window.<br>'Why couldn't you find the keyhole, Spruggins?'<br>Taunted the wind.<br>'I can find the keyhole.'<br>And the wind, thin as a wire,<br>Darted in and seized the candle flame<br>And knocked it over to one side<br>And pummelled it down - down - down -!<br>But Mr. Spruggins held the candle so close that it singed his chin,<br>And ran and stumbled up the stairs in a surprisingly agile manner,<br>For the wind through the keyhole kept saying, 'Spruggins! Spruggins!'<br>behind him.<br>The fire in his bedroom burned brightly.<br>The room with its crimson bed and window curtains<br>Was as red and glowing as a carbuncle.<br>It was still and warm.<br>There was no wind here, for the windows were fastened;<br>And no moon,<br>For the curtains were drawn.<br>The candle flame stood up like a pointed pear<br>In a wide brass dish.<br>Mr. Spruggins sighed with content;<br>He was safe at home.<br>The fire glowed - red and yellow roses<br>In the black basket of the grate -<br>And the bed with its crimson hangings<br>Seemed a great peony,<br>Wide open and placid.<br>Mr. Spruggins slipped off his top-coat and his muffler.<br>He slipped off his bottle-green coat<br>And his flowered waistcoat.<br>He put on a flannel dressing-gown,<br>And tied a peaked night-cap under his chin.<br>He wound his large gold watch<br>And placed it under his pillow.<br>Then he tiptoed over to the window and pulled back the curtain.<br>There was the moon dodging in and out of the clouds;<br>But behind him was his quiet candle.<br>There was the wind whisking along the street.<br>The window rattled, but it was fastened.<br>Did the wind say, 'Spruggins'?<br>All Mr. Spruggins heard was 'S-s-s-s-s -'<br>Dying away down the street.<br>He dropped the curtain and got into bed.<br>Martha had been in the last thing with the warming-pan;<br>The bed was warm,<br>And Mr. Spruggins sank into feathers,<br>With the familiar ticking of his watch just under his head.<br>Mr. Spruggins dozed.<br>He had forgotten to put out the candle,<br>But it did not make much difference as the fire was so bright . . .<br>Too bright!<br>The red and yellow roses pricked his eyelids,<br>They scorched him back to consciousness.<br>He tried to shift his position;<br>He could not move.<br>Something weighed him down,<br>He could not breathe.<br>He was gasping,<br>Pinned down and suffocating.<br>He opened his eyes.<br>The curtains of the window were flung back,<br>The fire and the candle were out,<br>And the room was filled with green moonlight.<br>And pressed against the window-pane<br>Was a wide, round face,<br>Winking - winking -<br>Solemnly dropping one eyelid after the other.<br>Tick - tock - went the watch under his pillow,<br>Wink - wink - went the face at the window.<br>It was not the fire roses which had pricked him,<br>It was the winking eyes.<br>Mr. Spruggins tried to bounce up;<br>He could not, because -<br>His heart flapped up into his mouth<br>And fell back dead.<br>On his chest was a fat pink pig,<br>On the pig a blackamoor<br>With a ten pound weight for a cap.<br>His mustachios kept curling up and down like angry snakes,<br>And his eyes rolled round and round,<br>With the pupils coming into sight, and disappearing,<br>And appearing again on the other side.<br>The holsters at his saddle-bow were two port bottles,<br>And a curved table-knife hung at his belt for a scimitar,<br>While a fork and a keg of spirits were strapped to the saddle behind.<br>He dug his spurs into the pig,<br>Which trampled and snorted,<br>And stamped its cloven feet deeper into Mr. Spruggins.<br>Then the green light on the floor began to undulate.<br>It heaved and hollowed,<br>It rose like a tide,<br>Sea-green,<br>Full of claws and scales<br>And wriggles.<br>The air above his bed began to move;<br>It weighed over him<br>In a mass of draggled feathers.<br>Not one lifted to stir the air.<br>They drooped and dripped<br>With a smell of port wine and brandy,<br>Closing down, slowly,<br>Trickling drops on the bed-quilt.<br>Suddenly the window fell in with a great scatter of glass,<br>And the moon burst into the room,<br>Sizzling - 'S-s-s-s-s - Spruggins! Spruggins!'<br>It rolled toward him,<br>A green ball of flame,<br>With two eyes in the center,<br>A red eye and a yellow eye,<br>Dropping their lids slowly,<br>One after the other.<br>Mr. Spruggins tried to scream,<br>But the blackamoor<br>Leapt off his pig<br>With a cry,<br>Drew his scimitar,<br>And plunged it into Mr. Spruggins's mouth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Mr. Spruggins got up in the cold dawn<br>And remade the fire.<br>Then he crept back to bed<br>By the light which seeped in under the window curtains,<br>And lay there, shivering,<br>While the bells of St. George the Martyr chimed the quarter after seven.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Amy+Lowell">Amy Lowell</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=343722" data-title="Nightmare: A Tale for an Autumn Evening de Amy Lowell" data-description="After a Print by George Cruikshank

It was a gusty night,
With the wind booming, and swooping,
Looping round corners,
Sliding over the cobble-stones,
Whipping and veering,
And careering over the roofs
Like a thousand clattering horses.
Mr. Spruggi..."></div>
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