OUR LADY OF CHANGE
    by Berton Braley

    Sometimes she's a merry young hoyden,
          A madcap-fair brimming with fun --
    Till sudden she shifts in her fancy and lifts
          The sober gray eyes of a Nun;
    Her moods are as wayward as winds are,
          They change like the leaping of flame,
    And for all of the grace of her form and her face,
          She's never exactly the same!

  Sometimes she's a priestess and sibyl
          With eyes that are brooding and sad,
    Or a gypsy girl fair with a rose in her hair,
          Or the laughing young Love of a lad,
    Sometimes she's Our Lady of Sorrows
          Who's drunken of life to the lees,
    Or a Will-o'-the-wisp just as light as the lisp
          Of the leaves of the whispering trees.

    I've found her as true as a mother,
          I've known her as false as a jade,
    As proud and serene as a panoplied queen,
          As simple and sweet as a maid --
    So here's to My Lady Adventure
          Whose magic I may not defy,
    By hill and by hollow her footsteps I follow,
          And so I shall do till I die!

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