A FICKLE WOMAN.

Her nature is the sea's, that smiles to-night

A radiant maiden in the moon's soft light;

The unsuspecting seaman sets his sails,

Forgetful of the fury of her gales;

To-morrow, mad with storms, the ocean roars,

And o'er his hapless wreck the flood she pours!

John Smith, U.S.A. · 第 48 / 75 题