“To be sure you have said, as of dim intent,
That marriage is a plain event
Of black and white,
Without any ghost of sentiment,
“And my heart has quailed.—But deny it true
That you will never this lock undo!
No God intends
To thwart the yearning He’s father to!”
The husband hemmed, then blandly bowed
In the light of the angry morning cloud.
“So my idyll ends,
And a drama opens!” he mused aloud;
And his features froze. “You may take it as true
That I will never this lock undo
For so depraved
A passion as that which kindles you.”
Said she: “I am sorry you see it so;
I had hoped you might have let me go,
And thus been saved
The pain of learning there’s more to know.”
“More? What may that be? Gad, I think
You have told me enough to make me blink!
Yet if more remain
Then own it to me. I will not shrink!”
“Well, it is this. As we could not see
That a legal marriage could ever be,
To end our pain
We united ourselves informally;
“And vowed at a chancel-altar nigh,
With book and ring, a lifelong tie;
A contract vain
To the world, but real to Him on High.”
“And you became as his wife?”—“I did.”—
He stood as stiff as a caryatid,
And said, “Indeed! . . .
No matter. You’re mine, whatever you ye hid!”
“But is it right! When I only gave
My hand to you in a sweat to save,
Through desperate need
(As I thought), my fame, for I was not brave!”