Frail Lucia of a mutual love...

Frail Lucia of a mutual love . . . . . . . . . . . . Fair little wingèd cooing dove, Thou'st fluttered down from thy far dovecote, Awhile to nestle in earth's sweet grove.

Would it were sweeter, child, for thee— Sweet as the silver-breaking sea (When Indian summer broods upon it) Doth flute and fife to the golden tree!

Thine angel listens for thy breath Whene'er he hears the wings of death, Looks in the Father's face and prayeth— "For earth's sake spare her," he softly saith.