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!'

1. Soon, O Ianthe! Life Is O'er
2. Dirce
3. Corinna, from Athens, to Tanagra
4. Past Ruin'd Ilion Helen Lives
5. Tell Me Not Things Past All Belief

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