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!