The Unwilling Muse

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 rouse of her aid has bereft me, And the editor's waiting outside.