'T is 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."


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