TOO LATE. 1. HERE was I with my arm and heart And brain, all yours for a word, a want Put into a look-just a look, your part, While mine, to repay it . . . vainest vaunt, Were the woman, that 's dead, alive to hear, Had her lover, that 's lost, love's proof to show! But I cannot show it; you cannot speak From the churchyard neither, miles removed, Though I feel by a pulse within my cheek, Which stabs and stops, that the woman I loved Needs help in her grave and finds none near, Wants warmth from the heart which sends it-so! 2 Did I speak once angrily, all the drear days Where was the use then? Time would tell, What woman for me was the choice of God. I used to sit and look at my life 3. But either I thought, "They may churn and chide And found this horrible stone full-tide: And my waves no longer champ nor chafe, [be!" Since a stone will have rolled from its place: let 4. But, dead! All 's done with: wait who may, Watch and wear and wonder who will. Oh, my whole life that ends to-day! Oh, my soul's sentence, sounding still, "The woman is dead, that was none of his; And the man, that was none of hers, may go!" There's only the past left: worry that! Wreak, like a bull, on the empty coat, Rage, its late wearer is laughing at ! Tear the collar to rags, having missed his throat; Strike stupidly on-" This, this and this, 66 Where I would that a bosom received the blow!" 5. I ought to have done moré: once my speech, Why, men do more to deserve a friend, Be rid of a foe, get rich, grow wise, Nor, folding their arms, stare fate in the face. And borne you away to a rock for us two Somewhere your slave, see, born in his place!" |