Poems (David)/Fair Annie

by Edith Mary David

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!