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 | The collected works of Ambrose Bierce |  |
[The devil casting a seine of lace]
The devil casting a seine of lace,
(With precious stones 'twas weighted)
Drew it into the landing place
And its contents calculated.
(With precious stones 'twas weighted)
Drew it into the landing place
And its contents calculated.
All souls of women were in that sack—
A draft miraculous, precious!
But ere he could throw it across his back
They'd all escaped through the meshes.
A draft miraculous, precious!
But ere he could throw it across his back
They'd all escaped through the meshes.
Baruch de Loppis.
| The collected works of Ambrose Bierce | |