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1850–1895

A FICKLE WOMAN.

Eugene Field

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!

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A FICKLE WOMAN. · Eugene Field · Poetry Cove