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...DEDICATION TO THE LATER SONNETS TO URANIA by GEORGE SANTAYANA EXILE OF ERIN by THOMAS CAMPBELL THE LIVING DEAD by RALPH CHAPLIN THE ROSE TREE by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE RUNNER WITH THE LOTS by LEONIE ADAMS TWO GRANDMOTHERS by IRENE ARCHER |