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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - Flower-De-Luce: To-Morrow
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`Tis 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; 
  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, 
  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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