Poem by Matthew Arnold

Too Late

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 harder fate,
The lovers meet, but meet too late.
- Thy heart is mine! - True, true! ah, true!
- Then, love, thy hand! - Ah no! adieu! 

1. To George Cruikshank
2. A Picture at Newstead
3. Written in Butler’s Sermons
4. Calais Sands
5. Heine’s Grave

Edmund Stedman Too Late ("Crouch no more by the ivied walls")

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