The Man Next Door - Ernest O'Ferrall

Fragments of song around me lie,

Fair ballads of delight,

Sweet things an editor would buy

And treasure at first sight;

All broken now, they're but a heap

Of paper on the floor.

(Some night, armed with an axe, I'll leap

Upon the fiend next door!)

Whene'er a verse I try to write,

Or spin a story gay,

There comes a howling in the night

That chases thought away;

Then, throwing down the pen, I call

Down curses on his roar.

(Some night, with daggers three, I'll fall

On him who shrieks next door!)

If I am feeling fit and well,

And forth the inkpot bring,

He gives a wild and dismal yell

And starts his bellowing.

I glare upon him from above

As round his room he prowls,

While all the songs I most do love

He mangles into howls.

The golden guineas fade away,

The bailiff waits without;

I curse each agonising bray,

I curse each empty shout;

My pen is still, my brain is numb,

My senses sick and sore.

(I've asked for something swift to come

And slay the Noise next door!)

---

Ernest "Kodak" O'Ferrall (1881 – 1925) Australia

Source: Poemist