I'll not confer with Sorrow <br />Till to-morrow; <br />But Joy shall have her way <br />This very day. <br /> <br />Ho, eglantine and cresses <br />For her tresses!-- <br />Let Care, the beggar, wait <br />Outside the gate. <br /> <br />Tears if you will--but after <br />Mirth and laughter; <br />Then, folded hands on breast <br />And endless rest.<br /><br />Thomas Bailey Aldrich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-ll-not-confer-with-sorrow/
