This page has been validated.
LOVED TOO LATE.
51
LOVED TOO LATE.
AR off in the dim and desolate Past,—That shoreless and sorrowful sea
Where wrecks are driven by wave and blast,
Shattered, sunken, and lost, at last,
Lies the heart that was broken for me,—
Poor heart!
Long ago broken for me!
My loves were Glory and Pride and Art,—
Ah, dangerous rivals three!
Sweet lips might quiver and warm tears start:
Should an artist pause for a woman's heart,—
Even that which was broken for me?
Poor heart!
Too rare to be broken for me!
Ah, dangerous rivals three!
Sweet lips might quiver and warm tears start:
Should an artist pause for a woman's heart,—
Even that which was broken for me?
Poor heart!
Too rare to be broken for me!
O, she was more mild than the summer wind,
More fair than the lilies be;
More true than the star with twilight twinned
Was the spirit against whose love I sinned,—
More fair than the lilies be;
More true than the star with twilight twinned
Was the spirit against whose love I sinned,—
