To–morrow–’tis an idle sound,
Tell me of no such dreary thing;
A new land whither I am bound
After strange wandering.
What care I if bright blossoms there
Unfold, and sunny be the field;
If laded boughs in summer air
Their pulpy fruitage yield?
While deck to–day my pleasant bower
Upon my own loved mountain–side
The azure periwinkle flower,
And violet deep–eyed?
Tell me not of to–morrow; calm
In His great hand I would abide
Who fills my present hour with balm,
And trust, whate’er betide.
(Henry Alford)
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Based on Topics: Flowers Poems, Summer Poems, Trust Poems, Idleness PoemsBased on Keywords: pulpy, deep-eyed, periwinkle, to-morrow-, laded