Poems with rhymes of morrow

Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow?

'Tis craven to survey the morrow!
Go give your heart, and if it break-
A wise companion is Sorrow.

Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow?

With a little love and a little sorrow,
And then the dawn in the skies of sleep
And a clear to-morrow.

The link where yesterday frets to-morrow:
All things pass in the world, but never
Sorrow.

Should some great angel say to me to-morrow,
“Thou must re-tread thy pathway from the start,
But God will grant, in pity, for thy sorrow,

infilling void and sorrow
with Spirit and Life,
renewing the now and the morrow.

To bear a little sorrow:
So run along, and wipe your eye,
'Twill all be well to-morrow.

Then to come, in spite of sorrow,
And at my window bid good-morrow,

Night should ease a lover's sorrow;
Therefore, since I go to-morrow,

Do you question the young children in the sorrow,
Why their tears are falling so?---
The old man may weep for his to-morrow

He warned of joys, and bade them pray for sorrow,
And be prepared to-day for death to-morrow;

But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch's high estate.
(Ah, let us mourn!- for never morrow

It is the same!--For, be it joy or sorrow,
The path of its departure still is free:
Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow;

To-day, nor yet to-morrow;
Enough if in our hearts we know
There's such a place as Yarrow.

When I bade me not absolve you on that evening or the morrow,
Why did you not make war on me with those who weep like rain?
You felt too much, so gained no balm for all your torrid sorrow,

He turned his pale face, while his eyes, full of sorrow,
Met mine, and it seemed like the gaze of the dead;
I spoke once again: “Hugh, we'll meet them to-morrow,

Me, who am only Pippa,-old-year's sorrow,
Cast off last night, will come again to-morrow:

These are words of deeper sorrow
Than the wail above the dead;
Both shall live, but every morrow

A weary round of toil and sorrow,
And, since it now at last is gone,
We say farewell and hail the morrow.