Tomorrow! - Why, Tomorrow I

Alas, That Spring Should Vanish With The Rose! That Youths Sweet-scented Manuscript Should Close!

If I Don't Enjoy Myself Now, When Shall I?

Into This Universe, And Why Not Knowing Nor Whence, Like Water Willy-nilly Flowing; And Out Of It, As Wind Along The Wate, I Know Not Whither, Willy-nilly Blowing.

Think Not I Dread To See My Spirit Fly, Through The Dark Gates Of Fell Mortality; Death Has No Terrors When The Life Is True; 'tis Living Ill That Makes Us Fear To Die.

The Moving Finger Writes; And Having Writ, Moves On.