Prague, The Czech Republic - While visiting Prague on their Ramble, Mr. and Mrs. Ron Antinori accidentally discovered this hitherto unpublished poem believed to be the work of Edgar Allen Poe.  Mr. Antinori found the poem in the process of checking out of their hotel room while he was performing his standard exhaustive procedure of searching for articles of clothing and other items possibly left behind by Mrs. Antinori.  The poem was carved into the mattress slats.  It is a known fact that Mr. Poe slept here and tortured by visions of black cats, preferred to sleep on the floor under the bed.
          It is believed that this poem was Mr. Poe's earlier attempt in the use of rhyming iambic pentameter which set the stage for the publication of his first ornithology series called The Canary followed a few years later by his more successful poem, The Cuckoo.
          The publishers of this article take absolutely no responsibility for the accuracy of this account and apologize to Mr. Poe and his assigns for any embarrassment it may cause.  We also apologize to Mrs. Antinori for publishing this document over her strong objections.

The Concierge

Once upon a morning early, while I Rambled, feeling surly,
Over thoughts of chambers dreary, wearily I did deplore,
While I grumbled, gently rocking, suddenly there came a socking,
As if someone rudely knocking, knocking on my bedroom door,
"Tis some chambermaid", I mumbled, "socking on my bedroom door –
Only this, and nothing more."

Oh so clearly I recall, having stepped into the hall,
My robe flapping , firmly catching in the locking of the door
There was I without my keys, breezes wafting round my knees
Looking for the absent sleaze, sleaze who socked my bedroom door,
For that person who has left me with this daunting ghastly chore,
Chilly thoughts and nothing more.

As I pulled my robe around me did I rip it off so soundly,
Naked in the hall stood I before my bedroom door,
Yelling, screaming, heart a beating, squirming there repeating
"Tis me beseeching entrance through my bedroom door-
A naked visitor beseeching entrance through my bedroom door
Twas only me and nothing more."

Suddenly my resolve did peak when I heard a voice bespeak,
A sound familiar whispering behind my bedroom door,
Eagerly I began to blather, trying to explain the matter,
Standing there my robe a tatter, a tatter on that hallway floor
Praying for a quick salvation as furtively did I implore,
"Tis only me and nothing more."

The errant Gods of destiny, playing games deplorably,
Thought I with barren feet upon that cold and dusty floor.
"Who is out there loudly rapping, while I lay here soundly napping,
Please becalm that noisy yapping, yapping at my bedroom door."
Said she so sweetly, my wonderfully completely sweet Suenor,
"But it’s only me and nothing more"

"Get thee gone" she drows’ly said, "My husband’s near me still in bed"
Came that voice I’ve known a lifetime as my sweet Suenor,
"Oh be merciful I did extol, please look through the door’s peephole,
Beset your eyes upon this mole, a mole you’ve surely known before"
Hoping to expediate my rapid entry through my bedroom door,
"I have this mole and nothing more."

In the midst of this affair, arrived the concierge so debonair,
Casting eyes upon my naked torso shaking to the core,
"Monsieur, I’m sure you think me bold but I’m sure to catch a cold
And if the brazen truth be told, told before this bedroom door
My cautious wife does doubt me, my completely sweet Suenor,
I’ve lost my key and nothing more".

Once again my hopes soared high, but when I caught his evil eye,
My quest is hopeless so thought I, as he spoke this wicked gore
"Monsieur, you must come with me, for I warn you candidly,
It’s a duplicitous thief I see, see before this bedroom door
And where’s your paramour of crime, the women you call Suenor?
Get thee to hell and nothing more."

The day of night absorbed the light, propelling me hence to fight,
This hellish concierge known now to me as Satan’s whore,
While I scampered, twisting, turning, pleading, begging, endless yearning,
Despairing thoughts forever churning, churning deep within my core,
Again! Incessantly repeating, the mindless tapping at my bedroom door,
"It’s Suenor I seek, and nothing more!"

Now upon this morning glory, relating hence to you this story,
Knowing full well you’ve heard my Rambled tales before,
(I swear it’s true) For on my shoulder came a tapping, someone gently poking, rapping,
Disturbing thence my troubled napping, napping on my bedroom floor,
"Honey, wake up! You’ve fallen on the bedroom floor", said my sweet Suenor,
"You were only dreaming, nothing more"