When the weary night is fled, <br />And the morning sky is red, <br />Then my heart doth rise and say, <br />`Surely she will come to-day.' <br /> <br />In the golden blaze of noon, <br />`Surely she is coming soon.' <br />In the twilight, `Will she come?' <br />Then my heart with fear is dumb. <br /> <br />When the night wind in the trees <br />Plays its mournful melodies, <br />Then I know my trust is vain, <br />And she will not come again.<br /><br />Robert Fuller Murray<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hope-deferred/
