'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."