Once upon a midnight dreary, as I was tossing, weak and weary,
From many a dish of quaint and curious cuisine,
While I nodded, nearly furling, suddenly there came a hurling,
As of some one violently vomiting, vomiting upon my chamber floor.
'Tis the aubergine,' I muttered, `now spattered upon my chamber floor      
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought some surcease,
For my stomach surcease of sorrow - sorrow for my chamber floor -
For the rare and radiant cleanliness with which it had shone before
Fouled now for evermore.

                         -- Allen Edgar O'Mulcahy, The Hurling
                            (Boston: Little Children's Home
                              Companion, April 16, 1843.)