The Man in the Corner

I rememb'r v'ry faintly
t wast a day hath spent plainly 
as i hath spent t in mine own humble lair 
as i hath kept to myself 
'mongst the many volumes 
upon mine own shelf
as their voices hath carried throughout
and hath fallen upon mine own ear 

moments hadst passeth't
without a w'rd
yond wast spoken by the dead
yet did remain unheard 

at which hour at mine own doth'r 
th're cameth a sudden tapping
mine own heart hath fallen heavy 
lief th're becameth a bevy
a s'ries of utt'r h'rr'r 
which hadst nev'r did frighten me bef're
once a knocketh 
and nothing m're.  
 
as the flames of hell hath grown in mine own eyes
from mine own chair i wast yet to rise
presently h're and nay furth'r
mine own soul i couldst p'rtain nay longeth'r
i stoodeth th're mine own thoughts didst carryeth
mine own faith forsooth wast doubt'd
by the v'ry thing 
which wast standing at mine own doth'r.  
 
"sir," hath said i.  "f'rgive me f'r implicating,
but the simple fact is
entrance forsooth thou art entreating " 
i stoodeth th're mine own heart ev'r beating.  
 "late is the night 
thy departure i empl're. 
 i has't not been a v'ry well hath kept host
i am a sir not visit'd by most. "
h're i hath opened the doth'r.  
 
i hath met the man
within the c'rn'r 
whilst that gent stoodeth upon the b'rd'r
as the matt'r of life and death
wast in his hands.  
 his eyes hath met mineev'r frowning 
mine own thoughts i wast ev'r drowning
doubting the thing which wast reality.  
 
"fool!" He shriek'd. 
 "in thy home i findeth most wondrous lodging,"
with his expressions i did fail 
at checking 
his departure i hadst nev'r did wish 
f'r aught m're.  
 "late is the night 
i has't nay cubiculo to b'rrow
still thee may returneth tom'rrow
i begeth thee; leaveth mine own chamb'r doth'r!"