To-morrow

Where shall I find a white rose blowing?

Out in the garden where all sweets be.

But out in my garden the snow was snowing,

And never a white rose opened for me,

Nought but snow and wind were blowing

And snowing.

Where shall I find a red rose budding?

Out in the garden where all things grow.

But out in my garden a flood was flooding

And never a red rose began to blow.

Out in a flooding what should be budding?

All flooding!

Now is winter and now is sorrow,

No roses but only thorns to-day:

Thorns will put on roses to-morrow,

Winter and sorrow scudding away.

No more winter and no more sorrow

To-morrow.