English poem
2. Too Late
by Matthew Arnold (1822–1888)
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!