I 'll not confer with Sorrow Till to-morrow But Joy shall have her way This very day Ho, eglantine and cresses For her tresses! - Let Care, the beggar, wait Outside the gate. Tears if you will -but after Mirth and laughter Then, folded hands on breast And endless rest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BALLAD OF THE LORDS OF OLD TIME by FRANCOIS VILLON AUTUMN MORNING AT CAMBRIDGE by FRANCES CROFTS DARWIN CORNFORD OUR CHRIST by HARRY WEBB FARRINGTON THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS THE WINDHOVER: TO CHRIST OUR LORD by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS |