The ladies sport their Sunday blouses.
Two pictures decorate the wall,
Vesuvius spouting sparks and ashes,
The brig Calypso in a squall,
Full-sailed despite the lightning flashes.
Without, the dark Atlantic flings
Against the cliff its booming surges,
And, as a shell, the snug room rings
With its reverberating dirges.
Against the door the night winds rave