by Charles Ives
So like a flower,
thy little four year face in its pure freshness
That to my bedside comes each morn
in happy guise – I must be smiling too.
O, little flower-like face that comes to me,
each morn for kisses –
Bend thou near me while I inhale its fragrance sweet
and put a blessing there.
Composer(s): Charles IvesFree via IMSLP