While a fresh, balmy breathing of spring-tide’s perfume
O’er my free soul is wreathing that delicate bloom,
Which glows o’er the beautiful feelings that glide
Through the pure angel-heart of my sweet sister Lide.
There’s a charm in the far gleam of waves on the sea,
And a spell in the star-beam that whispers of thee;
But as gay hours in fleeting new blushes of Spring
To this wild bosom’s beating in loveliness bring,
So its soft feelings deepen to glorious pride
When it dreams of its angel, my sweet sister Lide.