Walter Savage Landor (Уолтер Сэвидж Лэндор)
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!'
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