Classic Poem

Good luck is the gayest of all gay girls;
Long in one place, she will not stay:
Back from your brow she strokes the curls,
Kisses you quick and flies away.

But Madame Bad Luck soberly comes
And stays-- no fancy has she for flitting;
Snatches of true-love songs she hums,
And sits by your bed, and brings her knitting.