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Too Late: Poem by Matthew Arnold

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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 harder fate,
The lovers meet, but meet too late.
- Thy heart is mine! - True, true! ah, true!
- Then, love, thy hand! - Ah no! adieu!

Analysis of this poem

More verses by Matthew Arnold

  • The Charge
  • The Good Shepherd With The Kid
  • Saint Brandan
  • Tristram And Iseult
  • The Church Of Brou

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