When forced to retire at 74, with the throat cancer, I pretended that all was well, but boredom soon overcame me.

This Idle life, that you now lead,
Is like a pleasant sleep,
Wherein you rest and heed,
Those dreams that past you sweep.

And still, of all your dreams,
That in turn so swiftly pass,
Each in its fancy seems,
More noble than the last.

And each evening, you will say,
Noting this life of bliss,
“I have never known a day,
In all my life like this.”