Classic Poem

They say I am lucky, that cares I've none —
Yet never was there so unlucky a one.
'Twill be always the same, while I draw my breath,
From the hour of my birth to the day of my death.
O Dame Misfortune, I'm in your power,
Because I was born in a fated hour!

The spring so pretty, she presents brings,
But not for me are her gracious things.
My days go on, and my years fly past,
And I never was happy, from first to last.
O Dame Misfortune, I'm in your power,
Because I was born in a fated hour!

I do not count my earliest years,
Though doubtless they had their fill of tears.
O future days! If you wretched be,
Come short of the span allotted to me.

Mother of mine, when you bathed in flowers
Your baby child, of a few short hours,
The while the shower of blossoms broke
Why did not you let the petals choke?

Mother of mine, did you kneel and pray
In cloister dim, when a babe I lay,
That all misfortune should depart
From the little child held to your heart?

" I bore you there, and I knelt and prayed.
Alas, that blessing has been stayed!
Ill-luck has come, in spite of all —
Then take from God what may befall. "