Misfortune is a darling, ever
Most faithful to the minstrel race;
Let low-bred wretches shun them, never
Yet acted she a part so base.
True, oft by her the bard discovers
He's stript of all he once possest;
But then, just like your sculpture-lovers,
She likes her idols naked, best.
The Darling
Joseph Skipsey
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Poem topics: never, true, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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