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<h4>THE POET WHO SLEEPS</h4>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">One day, when I was young, I read</span><br/>
<span class="i0">About a poet, long since dead,</span><br/>
<span class="i0">Who fell asleep, as poets do</span><br/>
<span class="i0">In writing—and make others too.</span><br/>
<span class="i0">But herein lies the story’s gist,</span><br/>
<span class="i0">How a gay queen came up and kist</span><br/>
<span class="i0">The sleeper.</span><br/>
<span class="i5">‘Capital!’ thought I.</span><br/>
<span class="i0">‘A like good fortune let me try.’</span><br/>
<span class="i0">Many the things we poets feign.</span><br/>
<span class="i0">I feign’d to sleep, but tried in vain.</span><br/>
<span class="i0">I tost and turn’d from side to side,</span><br/>
<span class="i0">With open mouth and nostrils wide.</span><br/>
<span class="i0">At last there came a pretty maid,</span><br/>
<span class="i0">And gazed; then to myself I said,</span><br/>
<span class="i0">‘Now for it!’ She, instead of kiss,</span><br/>
<span class="i0">Cried, ‘What a lazy lout is this!’</span><br/></div>
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