HE CAME TOO LATE.
He came too late—he came too late
To soothe her spirit's silent anguish,
So deep her love, so sad her fate,
So sweetly lost, she seemed to languish;
His gift of love, the ring of gold,
Had fallen from her wasted finger,
Her lips were pale, where smiles of old,
In dimpling sweetness, loved to linger;
Yet still she kept his broken vow,
Still hoarded up his every token;
But death the lone one, claims her now—
He came too late, her heart was broken.
To soothe her spirit's silent anguish,
So deep her love, so sad her fate,
So sweetly lost, she seemed to languish;
His gift of love, the ring of gold,
Had fallen from her wasted finger,
Her lips were pale, where smiles of old,
In dimpling sweetness, loved to linger;
Yet still she kept his broken vow,
Still hoarded up his every token;
But death the lone one, claims her now—
He came too late, her heart was broken.
I saw her once—her locks of gold,
Intwined with many a radiant blossom,
Back from her snow-white forehead rolled,
And floated o'er her swelling bosom.
Around her slight and matchless form
A thousand graces seemed to hover:
'T was moulded to a perfect charm,
Yet pining for a faithless lover;
Intwined with many a radiant blossom,
Back from her snow-white forehead rolled,
And floated o'er her swelling bosom.
Around her slight and matchless form
A thousand graces seemed to hover:
'T was moulded to a perfect charm,
Yet pining for a faithless lover;
