<h2><SPAN name="poem83"></SPAN>HER LOVE</h2>
<p class="poetry">The sands upon the ocean side<br/>
That change about with every tide,<br/>
And never true to one abide,<br/>
A woman’s love I liken to.</p>
<p class="poetry">The summer zephyrs, light and vain,<br/>
That sing the same alluring strain<br/>
To every grass blade on the plain—<br/>
A woman’s love is nothing more.</p>
<p class="poetry">The sunshine of an April day<br/>
That comes to warm you with its ray,<br/>
But while you smile has flown away—<br/>
A woman’s love is like to this.</p>
<p class="poetry">God made poor woman with no heart,<br/>
But gave her skill, and tact, and art,<br/>
And so she lives, and plays her part.<br/>
We must not blame, but pity her.</p>
<p class="poetry">She leans to man—but just to hear<br/>
The praise he whispers in her ear;<br/>
Herself, not him, she holdeth dear—<br/>
O fool! to be deceived by her.</p>
<p class="poetry">To sate her selfish thirst she quaffs<br/>
The love of strong hearts in sweet draughts,<br/>
Then throws them lightly by and laughs,<br/>
Too weak to understand their pain.</p>
<p class="poetry">As changeful as the winds that blow<br/>
From every region to and fro,<br/>
Devoid of heart, she cannot know<br/>
The suffering of a human heart.</p>
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