More American Lieder: Tomorrow, by Korngold (1942). Seems to have a wartime sadness to it, appropriate for our own era
Tomorrow
When you are gone,
the birds will stop their singing,
When you are dead,
no sun will ever rise.
No more, no more
the joyful days upspringing
shall bless these eyes.
When you are in your grave,
the flowers blowing
shall hang their heads
and sicken in their grove.
Beauty will fade
and wither at your going,
oh, my own love.
Ah, say not so,
another love will cheer you.
The sun will shine
as bright tomorrow morn.
The birds will sing,
though I no longer near you
must lie forlorn.
When I am in my grave,
the flowers blowing
shall make you garlands
twenty times as sweet.
Beauty will live,
though I must sleep
unknowing beneath thy feet.