Seldom I've dabbled in the realms of red,
Or splashed my cricket bat with sanguine stains:
Who once the zombie genre sore disdains
Not lightly is amused by dudes undead.
At whiles attempts most valiant I'd read:
Bill Swears and Alden Bell took noble pains,
Yet none, meseems, did nosh upon my brains
Till Mira Grant scooped mine from out my head.
Then felt I like stout Rudyard Kipling when
Of all the well-worn ways to tribal lays,
He stumbled on that lost Threescore-and-Ten,
That closes hidebound books, and opens eyes
To all they asked - nor craves we read again,
But do, and do! - and cry, "When will we rise?"
Keats' original can be found here, for those unfamiliar with it.
For those unfamiliar with Mira Grant (alias the excellent contemporary fantasist seanan_mcguire), what more can I say? Go on, get some read on you!
* ETA: Which first persuaded me that a zombie apocalypse book could also be a right good read, and in whose absence I might never have tried out the others.