Soon may the edict lapse, that on you lays <br />This dire compulsion of infertile days, <br />This hardest penal toil, reluctant rest! <br />Meanwhile I count you eminently blest, <br />Happy from labours heretofore well done, <br />Happy in tasks auspiciously begun. <br />For they are blest that have not much to rue-- <br />That have not oft mis-heard the prompter's cue, <br />Stammered and stumbled and the wrong parts played, <br />And life a Tragedy of Errors made.<br /><br />William Watson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-a-friend-chafing-at-enforced-idleness-from-interrupted-health/
