“‘Marna of the far quest
After the divine!
Striving ever for some goal
Past the blunder-god’s control!
Dreaming of potential years
When no day shall dawn in fears!
That’s the Marna of my soul,
Wander-bride of mine!’”
The beautiful face was on my breast, the cornflower blue eyes were raised to mine, the maize-colored hair was like a curtain about us, shutting out the moonlight, the night, the world. I drew her closer, closer still, silently, breathlessly, until I heard her give a shaken cry:
“It’s in your eyes—I can read it! You do love me, you do, you do! David Dale! David Dale!”