To-morrow is too far away!
                 A bed of spice the garden is,
Nor bud nor blossom that we miss;
The roses tremble on the stem,
                 The violets and anemones:
Why should we wait to gather them?
Their bloom and balm are ours to-day.
To-morrow— who can say?

To-morrow is too far away.
                 Why should we slight the joy complete,
                 The flower open at our feet?
                 For us to-day the robin sings,
                 His curved flight the swallow wings,
For us the happy moments stay.
                 Stay yet, nor leave us all too fleet!
                 For life is sweet, and youth is sweet,
And love— ah, love is sweet to-day,
To-morrow— who can say?