He leant against a lamp-post, lost <br />In some mysterious reverie: <br />His head was bowed; his arms were crossed; <br />He yawned, and glanced evasively: <br />Uncrossed his arms, and slowly put <br />Them back again, and scratched his side-- <br />Shifted his weight from foot to foot, <br />And gazed out no-ward, idle-eyed. <br /> <br />Grotesque of form and face and dress, <br />And picturesque in every way-- <br />A figure that from day to day <br />Drooped with a limper laziness; <br />A figure such as artists lean, <br />In pictures where distress is seen, <br />Against low hovels where we guess <br />No happiness has ever been.<br /><br />James Whitcomb Riley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-lounger/
