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Chicago Weather
by Eugene Field (1850-1895)

To-day, fair Thisbe, winsome girl!
   Strays o'er the meads where daisies blow,
Or, ling'ring where the brooklets purl,
   Laves in the cool, refreshing flow.

To-morrow, Thisbe, with a host
   Of amorous suitors in her train,
Comes like a goddess forth to coast
   Or skate upon the frozen main.

To-day, sweet posies mark her track,
   While birds sing gayly in the trees;
To-morrow morn, her sealskin sack
   Defies the piping polar breeze.

So Doris is to-day enthused
   By Thisbe's soft, responsive sighs,
And on the morrow is confused
   By Thisbe's cold, repellent eyes.

December 6, 1884


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