HE paused on the sill of a door ajar That screened a lively liquor-bar, For the name had reached him through the door Of her he had married the week before. 'We called her the Hack of the Parade; But she was discreet in the games she played; If slightly worn, she's pretty yet, And gossips, after all, forget: 'And he knows nothing of her past; I am glad the girl's in luck at last; Such ones, though stale to native eyes, Newcomers snatch at as a prize.' 'Yes, being a stranger he sees her blent Of all that's fresh and innocent, Nor dreams how many a love-campaign She had enjoyed before his reign!' That night there was the splash of a fall Over the slimy harbour-wall: They searched, and at the deepest place Found him with crabs upon his face. |