"I'll Not Confer with Sorrow"

I'll not confer with Sorrow
      Till to-morrow;
But Joy shall have her way
      This very day.

Ho, eglantine and cresses
      For her tresses!--
Let Care, the beggar, wait
      Outside the gate.

Tears if you will--but after
      Mirth and laughter;
Then, folded hands on breast
      And endless rest.