Eugene Lee-Hamilton - Mimma Bella I lyrics

What wast thou, little baby, that art dead-- A one-day's blossom that the hoar-frost nips? A bee that's crusht, the first bright day it sips? A small dropt gem that in the earth we tread? Or cherub's smiling gold-encircled head, That d**h from out Life's painted missal rips? Or murmured prayer that barely reached the lips? Or sonnet's fair first line--the rest unsaid? Oh, 'tis not hard to find what thou wast like; The world is full of fair unfinished things That vanish like a dawn-admonished elf. Life teems with opening forms for d**h to strike; The woods are full of unfledged broken wings; Enough for us, thou wast thy baby self.