Decision day

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I waited, worn and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious spreadsheet of the year before —
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some notification gently rapping at my door.
"'Tis the server," I muttered, "sending nothing as before —
    Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December;
I had sat the test in autumn and had scored a little more
Than the average of the cohort — which the forums said was short of
What the college had admitted in the seasons heretofore.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
    Comfort from the boy next door.

And the silken sad uncertain scrolling of each thread and forum
Thrilled me, filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"'Tis the portal only, tweeting that it has not opened yet —
Some late update to the portal, that it has not opened yet;
    This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was checking, and so gently you came pecking,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you" — here I opened wide the door;
    Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I sat there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no candidate had dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Reserve" —
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Reserve" —
    Merely this, and nothing more.

Then, methought, the air grew colder, and a hand upon my shoulder
Said: the thing you did in April, when you sat and would not stop,
When the question would not open and you had no way to crop it,
And you tried, and failed, and tried again, and still refused to drop it —
That was read. That was the reason. That was noted. That was scored.
    Not the mark, and nothing more.

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil! —
By the heaven that bends above us — by the deadline we adore —
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a rare and radiant offer, sealed for evermore —
Clasp a rare and radiant offer, from the college I adore."
    Quoth the server, "Check at four."

And the portal, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid laptop screen just above my bedroom door;
And its eye has all the seeming of a system that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er it streaming throws a shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
    Shall be lifted — at four.