TOO LATE.
(PEINE D'AMOUR.)
(AFTER ARMAND SILVESTRE.)
When your hand was laid upon mine
'Twas in painful dread that I grasped it,
For some hesitation malign,
Made tremble the fingers that clasped it.
When you turned your forehead so near,
'Twas in painful dread that I kissed it,
For some cruel prompting of fear
Made me timidly seek to resist it.
Ah!—and my life thenceforward approved
Sorrow's bitterness had o'ercome me,
I only knew how I loved
The day that had taken you from me.