I'll Not Confer With Sorrow
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.
poem by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
Added by Poetry Lover
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