WHEN Love hath pierced the virgin's heart,
She strives to hide the wound in vain;
To bid it from her mem'ry part,
And seeks with smiles to hide her pain.
How often now she seeks the glass,
And plumes herself with care,
Say unperceiving friends; alas,
She ne'er before knew she was fair!
They wonder at her froward will,
Her friends she puts herself above,
But finally they guess the ill, -
"Perhaps she is in love!"
Read more in News
Shooting Club.