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| Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over files from a project which I'd never built before,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly the build was crapping,
As if some build script's code was jacking, jacking up my source code store
"'Tis a little bug," I muttered, "crapping on my source code store—
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember I was just a junior member,
Of a staff who counted building code as something to ignore
An open-source solution neatly I had sought to use completely
In vain hope that I deplete the problems in my source code store—
To fix the troubled build that kept a hold on my poor source code store—
My broken build, for evermore.
And the sullen sad surrender of my servers to the end of
Days when code would build had lent me terrors never felt before
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"'Tis some little bug entreating entrance to my source code store—
Some little bug entreating entrance to my source code store—
Only this, and nothing more,"
Presently I took to guessing how my build script might be messing
Messing up the build I thought should work as in the days of yore
But the fact is I was coding, not counting on the foul foreboding
Of a Tool now overgrowing the bound'ries of its building chore
It made its mark upon my code beyond its humble building chore
It owned my build, still wanting more
Deep into the POM file peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no coder ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken (the error message gave no token),
And my greatest fear unspoken was if again I'd have control
Could I again believe myself to be the one who had control?
To own my build, and nothing more?
Back unto my laptop turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again the build was crapping somewhat harder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is what happens when a depend'ncy graph is
Stretched until the length of path is b’yond what man has seen before
Let me see what jars are needed, and their dependencies explore—
'Tis just the jars and nothing more!
"Now adopted as our standard to build each project I commanded
Maven be the tool that we would use to ease our building chore
Straight away it took to forcing us to follow, not endorsing
Its coerc’d opinions now divorcing sense from all my source code store
It took control of every build inside my troubled source code store
I built with Maven, evermore
From the enterprise beguiling this tool my fancy into smiling,
By the standard settings and conventions rigid that it bore,
"Though thy brackets angled, Maven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven.
Mayhap you'd ease the maintenance of my builds and their Sis'phean chore
Tell me, can you ease the burden of my Sisyphean chore?"
Quoth the Maven, "Nevermore."
Much I marveled this ungainly tool to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with speaking tools within his source code store—
Tool or script within the central repo of his source code store,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the Maven chosen boldly as our standard now spoke only
That one word, as if its soul in that one word it did outpour.
No more meaning then it printed—though its output scrolled and dinted—
Till I scarcely more than hinted "Other builds I've built before;
On the morrow it will leave me, as my builds have failed before."
Then the tool said, "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Written by a tortured coder whose melancholy's only token
Left both code and coder broken till his tool one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never-nevermore.'
"But the Maven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of build and editor;
Then, upon the vinyl sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous tool of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous tool of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the tool whose fiery eyes now burned into my coder's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the Aeron's vinyl lining which the backlight gloated o'er,
But whose charcoal vinyl lining which the backlight gloated o'er,
My code shall see, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed by an unseen censer
And dependencies whose downloads glut my cache, and even more.
"Wretch!" I cried, "VanZyl hath lent you—by these downloads he has sent you
Respite, respite! and some Red Bull from my cursed source code store
Quaff, oh quaff this can of Red Bull, and forget this source code store!"
Quoth the Maven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, build tool or devil!
Whether useful tool, or whether bane of every coder on this floor
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this code base yet enchanted—
On this build by horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there a tool that would not own me? Tell me, tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Maven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! Prophet still, build tool or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, by building with the Maven,
Shall I never make the claim that I retain just some control?
Could some little token of my build remain in my control?"
Quoth the Maven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign of parting, building fiend!" I shrieked upstarting—
"Get thee back to Sonatype deep in the night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no jar file as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my project's build unbroken!—quit my central source code store!
Take thy POM from out my heart, and take thy cache from my code store!
"Quoth the Maven, "Nevermore."
And the Maven, never quitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
In that pallid project's repo deep inside my source code store;
Its POM files' eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the backlight o'er me streaming throws my shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!
|
