Too Late

I looked upon a dead girl's face and heard
  What seemed the voice of Love call unto me
  Out of her heart; whereon the charactery
  Of her lost dreams I read there word for word:--
  How on her soul no soul had touched, or stirred
  Her Life's sad depths to rippling melody,
  Or made the imaged longing, there, to be
  The realization of a hope deferred.
  So in her life had Love behaved to her.
  Between the lonely chapters of her years
  And her young eyes making no golden blur
  With god-bright face and hair; who led me to
  Her side at last, and bade me, through my tears,
  With Death's dumb face, too late, to see and know.