So Good-Luck came, and on my roof did light, Like noiseless snow, or as the dew of night; Not all at once, but gently,--as the trees Are by the sun-beams, tickled by degrees.
Laugh and the world laughs with you, Weep and you weep alone For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth, But has trouble enough of its own
• Ella Wheeler Wilcox