Poems (Welby)/He Came too Late

by Amelia Welby

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.

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;
I passed her by, yet on my ear
 Her bird-like voice came ringing after;
I little thought, a struggling tear,
 Was lost amid its silvery laughter.

He came too late—in days of old,
 When by her side he loved to wander,
And time that makes the heart grow cold,
 But served to make his bosom fonder,
That heart, in which he seemed to live,
 Was yielded up with bashful pleasure,
And though 't was all she had to give,
 That heart was in itself, a treasure;
He left her—'mid the vain and great
 He never found so fair a blossom;
He came at last, but O! too late—
 She slept within her Saviour's bosom.

Strange that the love-lorn heart will beat
 With rapture wild amid its folly—
No grief so soft, no pain so sweet
 As love's delicious melancholy.
And thus, though life and hope grew dim,
 She nursed the flame she could not smother;
It seemed more sweet to die for him
 Than live the worshipped of another.
And did Contentment fold its wing
 Around his heart while hers was riven?
No! in his bosom lurked the sting—
 He came, but she had flown to heaven.

He came too late—once, sweetly blest,
 She reigned amid earth's radiant creatures;
No smiling nymph had e'er possest
 A fairer form, or lovelier features.
Joy lit her eye's delighted beam,
 Love dwelt in its impassioned glances,
Yet filled it with that heavenly gleam,
 That sweetly awes while it entrances;
Yet, as the ring-dove mourns its mate,
 She pined for him the faithless-hearted;
He came, but O! he came too late,
 For she, the loved one, had departed.