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Poem by Walter Savage Landor


The Poet Who Sleeps


One day, when I was young, I read
About a poet, long since dead,
Who fell asleep, as poets do
In writing--and make others too.
But herein lies the story's gist,
How a gay queen came up and kist
The sleeper.
  'Capital!' thought I.
'A like good fortune let me try.'
Many the things we poets feign.
I feign'd to sleep, but tried in vain.
I tost and turn'd from side to side,
With open mouth and nostrils wide.
At last there came a pretty maid,
And gazed; then to myself I said,
'Now for it!' She, instead of kiss,
Cried, 'What a lazy lout is this!'



Walter Savage Landor


Walter Savage Landor's other poems:
  1. Ianthe! You Are Call'd to Cross the Sea!
  2. Twenty Years Hence My Eyes May Grow
  3. Once, and Once Only, Have I Seen Thy Face
  4. The Gates of Fame and of the Grave
  5. Ternissa! You Are Fled!


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