Thy guardian angel near thee flies;
Close thy rosebud-mouth, thine ears
To all want and needless fears.
Little one, lie still and rest,
Mother holds thee at her breast,
Like a flower by lover plucked,
Kissed and in maid's kerchief tucked.
Little one, thou'rt sweeter far
Than any petal-textured star,
Sweeter than a lover's gift;