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!