To-morrow, to-morrow, ah! when will it be?
Always "To-morrow, to-morrow."
Sweet pleasure's a treasure, to-day it is free,
Give wings to all sadness and sorrow;
The present and future will never agree,
No bride will abide till tomorrow.
To-morrow, if merciful Heaven shall give
One day to our sum, we will borrow
All treasures of pleasures, the future shall live,
And joy be unsullied with sorrow;
Reck not of the present, be pleasant and strive
To bear without loss till to-morrow.
Then death to the dallying cares of the mind,
And death and destruction to sorrow,
We'll laugh with the roses and sing with the wind,
And kisses and blisses we'll borrow;
The danger of anger we'll banish behind,
No scorn shall be born on the morrow.
To-morrow, ah! heaven is windy and red,
Red with foreboding of sorrow,
The elements, drifting far over our head,
Their mantles of sable-black borrow;
Sweet summer is faded, and Beauty is dead,
Deep-drooping and dead ere to-morrow.
To-morrow, believe it, both is and is not,
Both comes and comes not doth to-morrow;
We think it wlll add one day more to our lot
And leave us more moments to borrow;
But still in the present the past is forgot,
And leaves us no nearer to-morrow.
Poems index
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