To-day, fair Thisbe, winsome girl! <br /> Strays o'er the meads where daisies blow, <br /> Or, ling'ring where the brooklets purl, <br /> Laves in the cool, refreshing flow. <br /> To-morrow, Thisbe, with a host <br /> Of amorous suitors in her train, <br /> Comes like a goddess forth to coast <br /> Or skate upon the frozen main. <br /> To-day, sweet posies mark her track, <br /> While birds sing gayly in the trees; <br /> To-morrow morn, her sealskin sack <br /> Defies the piping polar breeze. <br /> So Doris is to-day enthused <br /> By Thisbe's soft, responsive sighs, <br /> And on the morrow is confused <br /> By Thisbe's cold, repellent eyes.<br /><br />Eugene Field<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/chicago-weather/
