Poems (David)/Fair Annie
FAIR ANNIE.
OH! she is not dead fair Annie, Though long her sleep shall be;She is alone where the violets blow Under the green-wood tree!
And I am "sare wearie," fair Annie, For lack of thy gentle face;The world is a desert, dear Annie, Without thy form of grace!
And how sadly I shall miss thee, When the hawthorn bloom is white;For now thou art fled, dear Annie, To brighter realms of light!
And oft is my sad fancy weaving O'er memories of the past:Yet will I strive to greet thee, Annie, In a future home at last!