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.

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.

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.