Part 9 (1/2)

Pa.s.sAGE

A dark sail, Like a wild-goose wing, Where the sunset was.

The moon soon will silver its sinewy flight Thro the night watches, And the far flight Of those immortal migrants, The ever-returning stars.

ALEEN

The long line of the foaming coast Is m.u.f.fled 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 sh.o.r.e.

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 G.o.d above-- For two, now overwhelmed, to love!

TO A SOLITARY SEA-GULL