'Tis late at night, and in the realm of sleep <br />My little lambs are folded like the flocks; <br />From room to room I hear the wakeful clocks <br />Challenge the passing hour, like guards that keep <br />Their solitary watch on tower and steep; <br />Far off I hear the crowing of the cocks, <br />And through the opening door that time unlocks <br />Feel the fresh breathing of To-morrow creep. <br />To-morrow! the mysterious, unknown guest, <br />Who cries to me: 'Remember Barmecide, <br />And tremble to be happy with the rest.' <br />And I make answer: 'I am satisfied; <br />I dare not ask; I know not what is best; <br />God hath already said what shall betide.'<br /><br />Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/flower-de-luce-to-morrow/
