Poems (Hooper)/Too Late

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For works with similar titles, see Too Late.
4652264Poems — Too LateLucy Hamilton Hooper
TOO LATE.
Two hours a mother, one year a wife,
She lies in the trance of departing life.

Her husband, beside her dying-bed,
In bitterest anguish bows his head.

"Accurs'd," he mutters, "the fate that sold
A lordly name for a woman's gold;

"That gave her hand where her heart was not,
And darkened forever her wedded lot!

"Yet, though you have loved me not, my wife,
I loved you ever, and more than life."

The dying heard, and the fleeting breath
Returned; for Love was as strong as Death.

Over her cheek stole a tinge of red;
Straight she arose in her dying-bed!

"Husband!" she cries, "let us bless the fate
That tells us the truth, though late, so late!

"I thought that I was an unlov'd bride,
Wedded for wealth and sold to pride.

"Yet (closer, O husband, bend your brow!)
I lov'd you long, and I love you now!"

She hides on his heart her paling face;
He folds her close in a long embrace.

Slowly he lays her from off his breast
Back to her long and her dreamless rest.

He bends and kisses the placid brow,
Whiter than marble and cold as snow.

He whispers low, "The kiss now given
Return to me when we meet in heaven!"

Alas! the secret of many a fate
These two words tell, "Too late, too late!"