Classic Poem

When oppressed by Love's sweet sorrow,
At Juana's feet I pray,—
If I sigh and say—“To-day,”
She answers—“Oh! to-morrow!”

She weeps if any joy elates me;
If sad, she sings, and mirth comes o'er her;
And if I say that I adore her,
The cruel maiden says she hates me.
Whence then can I a solace borrow?
Except I die—and die I may—
For if I sigh and say—“To-day,”
She answers—“Oh, to-morrow!”

If, to see her eyes of brown,
I lift mine, she downward gazes;
But the maiden heavenward raises
Her's if also I look down.
At times, o'ercome by grief and sorrow,
I vow to break her sovereign sway,
But if I sigh, and say—“To-day,”
She answers—“Oh! to-morrow!”

At times, too, if I claim the prize
Of victory, she declares I'm beaten;
And if the cup of life I sweeten
With hopes of bliss beyond the skies,
She hints at brimstone and Gomorrha!
Even now, if in Death's arms I lay,
And sighing said, “I'll die to-day”—
She'd answer—“Oh, to-morrow!”