Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (18071882). Complete Poetical Works. 1893. | | Flower-de-Luce | To-morrow |
| T IS late at night, and in the realm of sleep | |
My little lambs are folded like the flocks; | |
From room to room I hear the wakeful clocks | |
Challenge the passing hour, like guards that keep | |
Their solitary watch on tower and steep; | 5 |
Far off I hear the crowing of the cocks, | |
And through the opening door that time unlocks | |
Feel the fresh breathing of To-morrow creep. | |
To-morrow! the mysterious, unknown guest, | |
Who cries to me: Remember Barmecide, | 10 |
And tremble to be happy with the rest. | |
And I make answer: I am satisfied; | |
I dare not ask; I know not what is best; | |
God hath already said what shall betide. | | | |
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