But she didn't have a curl,
Though she had an Easter-bonnet
With ostrich plumes and flowers on it,
Since like her mother she aspired
A la mode to be attired.
But when she rose on Easter morn
With deepest grief her heart was torn,
For oh, alas! the rain was falling
In torrents great; to her appalling,
As well she knew 'twould spoil her bonnet