Three Women by Ella Wheeler Wilcox — Read

The October day had been luscious and fair / Like a woman of thirty. A chill in the air / As the sun faced the west spoke of frost lurking near. / All day the Sound lay without motion, and clear / As a mirror, and blue as a blond baby's eyes. / A change in the tide brought a change to the skies. / The bay stirred and murmured and parted its lips / And breathed a long sigh for the lost lovely ships, / That had gone with the Summer.

Its calm placid breast / Was stirred into passionate pain and unrest. / Not a sail, not a sail anywhere to be seen! / The soft azure eyes of the sea turned to green. / A sudden wind rose; like a runaway horse / Unchecked and unguided it sped on its course. / The waves bared their teeth, and spat spray in the face / Of the furious gale as they fled in the chase. / The sun hurried into a cloud; and the trees / Bowed low and yet lower, as if to appease / The wrath of the storm king that threatened them. Close / To the waves at their wildest stood Roger Montrose. / The day had oppressed him; and now the unrest / Of the wind beaten sea brought relief to his breast, / Or at least brought the sense of companionship. Lashed / By his higher emotions, the man's passions dashed / On the shore of his mind in a frenzy of pain, / Like the waves on the rocks, and a frenzy as vain.