OH, nothing in all life worse is, For abating superfluous pride, Than having to scribble on verses With the editor waiting outside; I am hearing a lecture on Shelley, Where I ought to be able to dream, But my brain is as vapid as jelly, And I cannot alight on a theme. The bell rings. My friend, the Professor, Is beginning to read out the roll. How time drags! Am I present? Oh, yes, sir, But, oh, what a blank is my soul. I fear that my cunning has left me, Inspiration refuses to guide, The muse of her aid has bereft me, And the editor's waiting outside. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FACADE: 2. THE BAT by EDITH SITWELL RESPECTABILITY by ROBERT BROWNING JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER by GEORGE GORDON BYRON FOR MY OWN TOMBSTONE by MATTHEW PRIOR CALIBAN IN THE COAL MINES by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE STEAM-ENGINE: CANTO 9: GREAT WESTERN DAYS by T. BAKER THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 34. REMINDING HER OF A PROMISE (1) by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT IN MEMORIAM: J. MACMEIKIN; DIED APRIL 1883 by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |