SOON may the edict lapse, that on you lays This dire compulsion of infertile days, This hardest penal toil, reluctant rest! Meanwhile I count you eminently blest, Happy from labours heretofore well done, Happy in tasks auspiciously begun. For they are blest that have not much to rue -- That have not oft mis-heard the prompter's cue, Stammered and stumbled and the wrong parts played, And life a Tragedy of Errors made. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...KU KLUX by MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN THE SCARECROW by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE WHITE THOUGHT by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON ON THE TRUE MEANING OF THE SCRIPTURE TERMS 'LIFE AND DEATH,' by JOHN BYROM AH! YET CONSIDER IT AGAIN by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH SONG: THE LARK by DAVID HARTLEY COLERIDGE ODE TO PEACE by WILLIAM COLLINS (1721-1759) TO A PORTRAIT OF WHISTLER IN THE BROOKLYN ART MUSEUM by ELEANOR ROGERS COX |