In the old Tuscan town stands Giotto's tower, The lily of Florence blossoming in stone, A vision, a delight, and a desire, — The builder's perfect and centennial flower, That in the night of ages bloomed alone, TO-MORROW. IS late at night, and in the realm of sleep 'TIS 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." |
