Leave it for tomorrow

Now, these thoughts come rushing, tumbling;  how they come along!
Unveil appalling shadows from a past;
All these things we're naked to, that taunt us in our sleep,
Gather on the stage, assembled cast;

Of all the yellow'd mem'ries which I hold here in my mind
Recall a wicked ev'ning in November:
A pistol shot! A wailing child, a panicked flight to darkness;
Two score years thence, I shudder to remember;

But what name would you give me if I danced a merry jig,
In brazen bid for raucous adulation?
Never has a songstress sung my praises to a king;
Please mock me not for self-infatuation;

My love, how can I soldier on?  What wellspring can I tap?
To cleanse my shame?  To help me conquer sorrow?
And she:  "But this is life, my love, no recourse more than this:
'Tis best that you should leave it for tomorrow."