"My name," I said, "is Peleg Doddleding,
    And Doddleding has been my name since birth."
And having told this girl this shameful thing
    I bowed my head and waited for her mirth.

She did not laugh. I looked at her, and she,
    With wistful gladness in her yellow eyes,
Swept with her gradual gaze the mocking sea.
    Then dried her gaze and swept the scornful skies.

I thought perhaps she had not heard aright.
    "My name," I said again, "is Doddleding!"
Thinking she would reply, "Ah, then, goodnight--
no love of mine round such a name could cling!"

We'd met upon the beach an hour before,
    And our loves lept together, flame and flame.
I loved. She loved. We loved. "She'll love no more,"
    I moaned, "when she learns Doddleding's my name!"

She was not beautiful, nor did she seem
    The sort of person likely to be good;
Her outcast manner 'twas that bade me dream
    If any one could stand my name she could.

She seemed a weakly, sentimental thing,
    Viscious, no doubt, and dull and somewhat wried.
I said once more, "I'm Mister Doddleding!"
    Feebly she smiled. I saw she had no pride.

The westering sun above the ocean shook
    With ecstasy, the flushed sea shook beneath . . . .
I trembled too . . . She smiled! . . . . and one long look
    Showed something queer had happened to her teeth.

O world of Gladness! World of gold and flame!
    "She loves me then, in spite of all!" I cried.
"Though Peleg Doddleding is still my name,
    Yet Peleg Doddleding has found a bride!"

I stroked her hair . . . . I found it was a wig . . . .
    And as I slipped upon her hand the ring
She said, "My name is Effie Muddlesnig--
    Oh, thank you! Thank you Mister Doddleding!"

In all the world she was the only one
    For me, and I for her . . . . lives touch and pass,
And then, one day beneath a westering sun,
    We find our own! One of her eyes is glass.