ALEEN

The long line of the foaming coast

Is muffled by the fog's gray ghost.

I cross the league of sea between

And lift the latch and kiss Aleen.

She throws a log upon the fire.

I draw her to me, nigh and nigher.

She does not know what a brief time

Ago it was my arms held — crime.

The surf is beating on the shore.

We hear our own heart-beatings more.

She speaks of him and my reply

Is silence: does she wonder why?

“I do not love him: have no fear,”

Her whisper is, against my ear.

At last, “I have no fear,” say I.

She starts, as at a wild-beast's cry.

And then she sees red on my coat.

A still-born cry throbs in her throat.

The fog sweeps by the window pane.

Her sight is fixed on one dull stain.

I rise and light my pipe and go,

Leaving her standing, staring so.

The wind means storm, I think, to-night:

But more than that will make her white.

And yet had it been yesterday

She said those words, I still could pray.

There would be still a God above —

For two, now overwhelmed, to love!