(There is said to be a steady demand for 'bedbooks' <br />in England. There are readers who find in Gibbon a <br />sedative for tired nerves; there are others who enjoy <br />Trollope's quiet humour. Some people find in Henry <br />James's tangled syntax the restful diversion they seek, <br />and others enjoy Mr. Howells's unexciting realism. <br />-_The Sun_.) <br /> <br />How sleep the brave who sink to rest, <br />Lulled by the waves of dreamy diction, <br />Like that appearing in the best <br /> Of modern fiction! <br /> <br />When sleeplessness the Briton claims, <br />And hits him with her wakeful wallop, <br />He goes to Gibbon or to James, <br /> Or maybe Trollope. <br /> <br />No paltry limit, such as those <br />The craving-slumber Yankee curses- <br />He has a wealth of poppy prose <br /> And opiate verses. <br /> <br />A grain of-ought I mention names <br />And say whence sleep may be inspired? <br />Is it the thing to say of James, <br /> 'He makes me tired?' <br /> <br />To say 'a dose of Phillips, or <br /> A capsule of Sinclair or Brady, <br />Is just the thing to make me snore?' <br /> Oh, lackadaydee! <br /> <br />Nay! It were churlish to review <br /> And specify by marked attention <br />Our bedbooks. They are far too nu- <br /> Merous to mention.<br /><br />Franklin P. Adams<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bedbooks/
