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!