Poems (Frances Elizabeth Browne)/To Annie
For works with similar titles, see To Annie.
TO ANNIE.
Though dark be the season of dreary December,
A wreath we may pluck from an evergreen tree,
And when Erin's kind daughters I fondly remember,
A garland I'll twine, my dear Annie, for thee.
The ivy, revealing of friendship the feeling,
The holly of Scotia's famed bard, shall be thine;
While mistletoe blending, its elegance lending,
For thee, my dear Annie, a garland I 'll twine!
A wreath we may pluck from an evergreen tree,
And when Erin's kind daughters I fondly remember,
A garland I'll twine, my dear Annie, for thee.
The ivy, revealing of friendship the feeling,
The holly of Scotia's famed bard, shall be thine;
While mistletoe blending, its elegance lending,
For thee, my dear Annie, a garland I 'll twine!
And though far away soon my footsteps may wander,
And the banks of the Foyle I no longer may see,
Full oft on the friends far removed shall I ponder,
And my thoughts shall revert, my dear Annie, to thee!
Or should music, soft stealing o'er each tender feeling,
And touching the chords in fond memory's shrine,
Full oft on each note thy remembrance shall float,
And the voice of its numbers, dear Annie, be thine.
And the banks of the Foyle I no longer may see,
Full oft on the friends far removed shall I ponder,
And my thoughts shall revert, my dear Annie, to thee!
Or should music, soft stealing o'er each tender feeling,
And touching the chords in fond memory's shrine,
Full oft on each note thy remembrance shall float,
And the voice of its numbers, dear Annie, be thine.