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My little maid with golden hair
Comes each morning for a kiss;
And I know the day will be fine and fair
When Polly looks like this.
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Or I know the clouds will frown and lower,
The skies will be dull and gray,
And perhaps there'll be a passing shower,
When Polly looks this way.
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But a violent storm of rain or snow
I can prognosticate,
For the sign will never fail, I know,
When this is Polly's pate.