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