Too late
I. Atkins
Each on his own strict line we move,
And some find death ere they find love;
So far apart their lives are thrown
From the twin soul which halves their own.
And sometimes, by still harder fate,
The lovers meet, but meet too late.
-- Thy heart is mine! --
True, true! ah, true!
-- Then, love, thy hand! --
Ah no! adieu!