Belgian, with cumbrous tread and iron boots, <br /> Who in the murky middle of the night, <br /> Designing to renew the foul pursuits <br /> In which thy life is passed, ill-favoured wight, <br /> And wishing on the platform to alight <br /> Where thou couldst mingle with thy fellow brutes, <br /> Didst walk the carriage floor (a leprous sight), <br /> As o'er the sky some baleful meteor shoots: <br /> Upon my slippered foot thou didst descend, <br /> Didst rouse me from my slumbers mad with pain, <br /> And laughedst loud for several minutes' space. <br /> Oh may'st thou suffer tortures without end: <br /> May fiends with glowing pincers rend thy brain, <br /> And beetles batten on thy blackened face!<br /><br />James Kenneth Stephen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/4th-july-1882-malines-midnight-2/
