The Blossoms Of To-Morrow

The sun was shining, after rain, The garden gleamed and glistened; I heard a humblebee complain-- I bent me down and listened.

Around a nodding stalk he flew, That bore white lilies seven; And five were opened wide, and two Slept in their lily heaven.

The foolish bee, the grumbling bee, That might have found a palace (As any one beside could see) Within the honeyed chalice--

The grumbling bee, the foolish bee, Still hummed one note of sorrow: "Oh, that to-day would give to me The blossoms of to-morrow."

From bud to bud, the livelong hour, I saw him pass and hover, And pry about each fast-shut flower, Some entrance to discover.

A discontented mind, no doubt, A moral here should borrow; I only say: "Don't fret about The blossoms of to-morrow!"