"Allan," said she, "I will tell you Of a vision that I had-- All the livelong night I dreamed it, And it made me very sad. We were walking slowly, seaward, In the twilight--you and I-- Through a break of clearest azure Shone the moon--as now--on high; Though I nothing said to vex you, O'er your forehead came a frown, And I strove, but could not soothe you-- Something kept my full heart down; When, before us, stood a lady In the moonlight's pearly beam, Very tall and proud and stately-- (Allan, this was in my dream!--) Looking down, I thought, upon me, Half in pity, half in scorn, Till my soul grew sick with wishing That I never had been born. 'Cover me from woe and madness!' Cried I to the ocean flood, As she locked her milk-white fingers In between us where we stood,-- All her flood of midnight tresses Softly gathered from their flow, By her crown of bridal beauty, Paler than the winter snow. Striking then my hands together, O'er the tumult of my breast,-- All the beauty waned and faded From the Valley of the West!" In the beard of Allan Archer Twisted then his fingers white, As he said, "My gentle Jessie, You must not be sad to-night; You must not be sad, my Jessie-- You are over kind and good, And I fain would make you happy, Very happy--if I could!" Oft he kissed her cheek and forehead, Called her darling oft, but said, Never, that he loved her fondly, Or that ever they should wed; But that he was grieved that shadows Should have chilled so dear a heart; That the time foretold so often Then was come--and they must part! Shook her bosom then with passion, Hot her forehead burned with pain, But her lips said only, "Allan, Will you ever come again?" And he answered, lightly dallying With her tresses all the while, Life had not a star to guide him Like the beauty of her smile; And that when the corn was ripened And the vintage harvest prest, She would see him home returning To the Valley of the West. When the moon had veiled her splendor, And went lessening down the blue, And along the eastern hill-tops Burned the morning in the dew, They had parted--each one feeling That their lives had separate ends; They had parted--neither happy-- Less than lovers--more than friends. For as Jessie mused in silence, She remembered that he said, Never, that he loved her fondly, Or that ever they should wed. 'Twas full many a nameless meaning My poor words can never say, Felt without the need of utterance, That had won her heart away.