Tomorrow

(Found here)

Lord, what am I, that, with unceasing care,

  Thou didst seek after me, that thou didst wait,

  Wet with unhealthy dews, before my gate,

  And pass the gloomy nights of winter there?

Oh, strange delusion! that I did not greet

  Thy blest approach! and oh, to Heaven how lost,

  If my ingratitude’s unkindly frost

  Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon thy feet!

How oft my guardian angel gently cried,

  “Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see

  How he persists to knock and wait for thee!”

And, oh! how often to that voice of sorrow,

  “Tomorrow we will open,” I replied,

  And when the morrow came I answered still, “Tomorrow.”

~Lope de Vega (translated from the Spanish by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)