Explore "Too Late" by Edith Nesbit on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
When Love, sweet Love, was tangled in my snare / I clipped his wings, and dressed his cage with flowers, / Made him my little joy for little hours, / And fed him when I had a song to spare.
And then I saw how good life's good things were, / The kingdoms and the glories and the powers.
Flowers grew in sheaves and stars were shed in showers, / And, when the great things wearied, Love was there.
But when, within his cage, one winter day / I found him lying still with folded wings, / No longer fluttering, eager to be fed -- / Kingdoms and powers and glories passed away, / And of life's countless, precious, priceless things / Nothing was left but Love -- and Love was dead!