Has Love come?
Ah, too late!
Already Death stands o'er me
With hungry eyes that bore me—
O cruel fate,
That after all life's years
Of sacrifice and tears,
'Tis Death, not Love, that wins.
But, stay! This message bear,
Ere yet Death's work begins:
"In other realms earth's losses
Will change from saddening crosses
To love-crowned joy,
Where Death shall have no mission,
But Love his sweet fruition
Without alloy."